


The fundamental principle

by phisen, TenchiKai



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Breakups, M/M, Romance, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:52:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisen/pseuds/phisen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai
Summary: They meet. One being post-breakup, the other on vacation. Trying to make sense of all of the things that brought them together.





	1. You identify what you wish to move into

**Author's Note:**

> (phisen)
> 
> Oh, this is a very special idea. So special that we barely dare to tag this story with anything in order to prevent the surprise from getting revealed. Rest assured, no-one is dying.

It had been brewing for days. A steadily growing irritation, that culminated in this. Emotions flared now, with harsh words being thrown about like they had but one intention. To mortally wound. Neither of them was backing down, that would show a weakness that would mean defeat. The both of them felt they had the prerogative, that their feelings were the ones that were the most valid. Acting exclusively on that belief.

 He was twirling his wedding band around his finger. It would be so easy to just take it off. Take it off and shut him up in the process. That would be his final blow, if things got completely out of hand. Yes, that would make him the winner, and truth be told, it was something he’d been thinking about doing for some time already. Not just tonight, not just for the last couple of days, but during the last months when the words had gotten harder and the looks icier. When the sex had started to become something they just did because… Well, that’s what married couples did. Had sex. Although it was more an act now, a charade to try and pretend they had some dignity left as a couple. At least that worked, somewhat. Last night, the both of them came.

Those words of his, they hurt. Although he was focused on fidgeting with that so called promise of love and devotion, that so called symbol of unity everlasting, they buried their way into him. Latching on to him. Making him feel like what they had wasn’t worth the strife. It was always like that when he started, when he dressed himself in that superior persona, spoke in that mocking way. He knew just the right buttons to push to make him feel completely worthless, and he pressed all of them. 

“Are you just going to sit there, huh? I’m talking to you, Yuuri! Now that we’re home together, _finally_ , is that how you’re going to play things?” 

He remained silent. He had a lot he wanted to tell him, but he knew from hard-earned experience that he wouldn’t get the opportunity. Not unless he came up with something that would shake him, make his foundations crumble. Something that would throw him completely off balance. He started to think about it, what his greatest fear was about being together with him, but he was constantly getting cut off by another arrow-shaped retort, another slash with a blunt verbal blade. Making him stagger mentally, making him lose his edge but at the same time, making him even more determined that he would strike him. Right where it would hurt the most. 

Fact is, being bombarded like this, cowering under the hellfire that was his words, made him feel like running away. He had to rein himself in, force himself to sit where he was and just _take it_. Take all of it. Retreating would mean that he had offered him the upper hand, carrying it over on a silver platter with a head bowed down. He wasn’t going to be the one left with that satisfaction, the last word in this lament describing a relationship drowning, clawing desperately to reach the surface again. He would rather… yes, what? End it than let it happen? Yes. Something within him vibrated when he had that thought. He was terrified. Knowing what would happen if he didn’t, knowing what would happen if he did. In all honesty, living through another evening like this would end _him_. No matter how _they_ would end up. 

“Why must you go on like this? You're always retreating, hiding inside of yourself like this. We’re _together_ here! It’s not just you!” 

“Together?” He mumbled the word, tasting it on his tongue. How hypocritical he was, using that word. It had lost its meaning some time ago, probably when late night texts and calls full of warmth and adoration had been replaced by a suffocating silence. When they had started eating separately, not waiting for the other to get home. When touches became scarce and impromptu hugs nonexistent. 

That word, ‘together’, it called him to attention. Infused him with even more confidence. He was going to do it. He just needed one more push before he could take the leap. He tried, took words in his mouth that he hadn’t ever thought of using. “All the nights you told me that you were going to be home, and left me alone anyway… Was that us being ‘together’?” 

He paused, taking a breath. His opponent was silent now, telling him that he had succeeded. He had toppled him, there was no need for further advancements. But the levee was broken, the waters too strong to stop at this point. He continued, getting carried away by the current. 

“Sure, right now, you’re home! I’m home! But this is not ‘being together’. How do I know that you’re not fucking someone else when you’re _not_ home? When you’re ‘working’ like you say you are?” He pretended to be brave by ending his execution with a scoff, still fiddling with his ring. He kept his facade of strength, though he was dying inside. He could feel the love waning. Bleeding out of him like an open wound. But even then, he made sure that he was still not looking at him. He couldn’t. He knew he would break if he did. 

He flinched due to the sound of his hands slammed down on the coffee table, harsh and almost painful to his ears. The glass had been hit with enough force to cause it to crack. Mirroring him and his feelings with an uncanny precision. How about that. 

“LISTEN! How many times have I told you, it’s you! It’s just you! It’s always been you! How dare you accuse me of having someone else!” 

He was probably looking straight at him, the way he was leaning in told him this but now, and now… he’d lost the confidence he had. He didn’t dare to raise his gaze. To meet his eyes. His energy was enough, it was invading him. Telling him that they were standing at the precipice. 

“And you’re quiet again! I can’t believe you, saying something like that and thenㅡ” 

“Is this how it ends?” His voice low and weak now, having completely lost the venom from before. His eyes were fixated on the ring he was still twisting and turning. He felt a sickening feeling to his stomach, having used those words. What if they were true? An omen of what was to come? 

The shadow of him, the looming presence of him disappeared. Along with it, the body heat that had radiated from him, that had overpowered him, did the same. Suddenly, he felt cold. Numb. Half a man. 

“Can we fix this?” He allowed himself to let his guard down, understanding where they had taken each other. Where they were going. His voice had lost its bravado, it was quivering violently. But not as much as he did on the inside. “Can’t weㅡ” 

“No!” 

With that sharp word in his ear, his muscles began to move without a second thought. The fingers of his opposite hand gripped the ring, and started to slide it off. The anger that fueled him was completely gone, now replaced by an overpowering emptiness. 

He didn’t know what felt more excruciating. The ring still warm in his hand, the sound of his lover leaving, or hearing the sharp metallic clink of a matching ring being thrown across the room.

* * *

 

He took a large mouthful of his drink. The memory still haunted him, still feeling fresh and open without a scab. How he wished for it to heal. Or better yet, what if… He stopped himself, taking another swig. He’d been playing that game ever since. Ever since his finger became bare. Naked and unclaimed. 

 _What if?_ What if there was a chance to make things right? To rekindle all of the things that once had been theirs. To relive their meeting, their falling in love, their promises. What if he could remember something, anything, of those things that actually had been _good_ , instead of focusing on all of that he wanted to forget. Oh, _what if?_ The things he would do to make it so. He missed him, he had been feeling an indescribable void ever since since that day. When tempers ran high and words ran low, when something united got divided and left to fend for itself. Which, naturally, it didn’t. It couldn’t sustain itself. Not without all its components, all its parts. 

He knew that letting things go, it wasn’t what he did best. Not his forte. He was a person who let himself know that he would remember every painful detail, probably for the rest of his life. Because that was how it was going to be, most probably. He would end up more miserable than he was now, romanticising about something that never was supposed to be and thus, live alone and maybe even die alone too. He had a chance at love, and he’d lost it. It was as simple as that. 

He put his forehead on his arm, feeling his glasses dig into the root of his nose. A dull feeling, one he chased to experience for the rest of him. Yes, the alcohol was doing what it was supposed to, to a degree. The slight heat that enveloped his ears, the tingling sensation in his hands, the way his vision was just a little more blurry than usual… All of that was good, but why couldn’t it do what he’d wanted it to do, just soften his mind a little bit? 

The day had been a disaster. Coming to Europe, to France, and thoroughly disappointing not only himself but his company had been another thing that he was hoping for the alcohol to take care of, somehow. How could he ever explain to his superiors that his presentation had been refused, they wouldn’t be able to take on the western market due to him being tongue-tied and awkward? Falling on the finishing line. 

“Another, please.” His English was slurry now, he noticed. Just as well, he wanted nothing to do with anyone. Not tonight. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

He didn’t respond, still with his forehead on his arm thinking about all of the things that should have been, all of the things that suddenly never was. If it was possible to redeem anything, and if so, what? Where would he start? 

He felt a hand on his arm, which made him turn his head. Reluctantly. 

“Are you doing okay?” 

A man had lowered himself to his level, leaning a little against the bar. Resting his head in his hand, the one that wasn’t touching his arm, looking straight into his eyes when he had turned them his way. Speaking with an accent he couldn’t place. 

He inhaled, feeling self-conscious that he had to be approached by someone that… well, breathtaking, when he was far from it himself. Piercing blue eyes, meticulously styled hair that was silver in colour despite his young features and a smile that briefly, just briefly made his mind go blank. In retrospect, that was an amazing thing. Forgetting everything, if only for a second. 

“I… I’m fine…” In that short moment when his head forgot all about his shortcomings, he was. He really was, so the answer was truthful. In part. 

“Is it okay if I join you?” He had placed himself in the seat next to him so, apparently, it was? At least to this apparition painted in silver and blue. 

He peered a little at his newly found company. Well dressed, seemingly well-built too. He was strangely familiar, for some reason. He decided to ask, just to get that question out of the way. 

“Have I seen you before?” 

“Well… I work in advertising, one might say, so… Maybe we have!” He winked a little before ordering a drink in fluent French. Before turning his attention back to him. Those blue eyes intently watching him, making him squirm a little inside. “What do you do?” 

“I’m a video game designer.” 

“Huh!” He sounded surprised by hearing his answer. Maybe he had been confirmed of some kind of stereotype, or maybe he wasn’t really familiar with that line of work. It was too hard to tell. But he continued with the same cheery voice as before. “So… why is a, um, Japanese,” he posed it as a question, “video game designer doing drinking alone at a hotel in Paris, then?” 

“Making a fool out of himself, I guess.” 

“For being Japanese or being a video game designer?” He had a little cheek to his voice, like he was amused by the minimal amount of banter he had started. 

He emptied his glass. That was actually a good question. As a video game designer, he’d made a fool out of himself, true. But being Japanese, thinking that his company’s kind of game would get picked up and released to the Western market… How about that. Another thing to feel downhearted about. 

“I’m on vacation,” the blue-eyed intruder said with a smile, like that piece of information was important to share. When he noticed that an answer wasn’t coming, he chuckled. “I’m Victor, by the way.” 

“Yuuri.” 

“That’s a man’s name where I’m from too. How about that!” Victor paused for a couple of seconds, and when he realised that he wasn’t going to be graced with an answer for a second time in barely no moments at all, he touched his arm again. “Yuuri? Can I buy you a drink? Can you handle one more, you think?” 

 _Oh, Asians and alcohol. How quaint._ “Yes. I can handle one more!” He realised that he sounded too sharp and corrected himself immediately. “I’m sorry, I… Yes, thank you.” He put his forehead on his arm again, with a sigh. He was just doing it over and over again. Making a fool of himself. 

“Great,” Victor replied, seemingly oblivious to what just transpired or maybe just not caring, and said something about vodka to the barkeep. Beaming when two small shot glasses appeared and got filled. “Yuuri, _za tvoye zdorovje_! Cheers!” He emptied his glass immediately, in one swift move. “Ooh, that’s good!” 

The little exhale he made, that sound, made his heart flutter. “You’re Russian?” He stopped himself from putting the glass to his lips, posing the question. Feeling somewhat glad over the fact that he wasn’t drinking alone anymore. 

“Yes, I am. Drink, Yuuri. You don’t want to give the angels such a big share. They are always offered enough.”

 

**~**~**

 

One drink became two and he wasn’t sure, but there was probably a couple more after that too. It felt like it anyway, how his inhibitions started to falter and how he got warm to the extent that he had to undo his tie and slightly unbutton his shirt. 

“Yuuri?” It felt like he was closer now for some reason, leaning in more, touching him more. _Talking_ more. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Uh-huh.” He had lost the ability to hear if he was talking in a distorted manner or not, probably three drinks ago. 

“Would it be strange if you joined me? Up there?” He nodded towards an open space, in front of a grand piano. 

“What… for?” 

“Just a dance.” He ran one hand through his hair, suddenly looking serious. 

Yuuri didn’t realise that he could look serious, he’d been sporting expressions ranging from cheery to humorous all night. But no, to him, it wasn’t strange. Not at all. What was strange, was his answer. He felt that even through his intoxication. 

“I’d love to.” 

“Amazing. Here, take my hand. I’ll ask him to play something suitable. Something French.” He was a wonderful support, with an arm on standby to grab his waist, should he stumble. He briefly let go of his hand when they reached the piano and returned just as quick. “Are you familiar with Debussy, Yuuri?” 

“Some. I… I danced ballet before.” 

His eyes narrowed for just a fraction of a second. It was like he froze in mid-motion. Just for a brief moment, like a heartbeat or two, before pulling him close with a gentle tug. Speaking into his ear. 

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? I’ll lead.” 

The pianist started, it was a slow and longing tune. Unknown to him. 

“You… you dance well, Victor.” He was rewarded a little chuckle in response. Yuuri had noticed that he tended to do that, just laugh softly when he found something amusing. The three-something hours they had spent together had taught him that about him, at least. That soft laugh, was something that he felt good hearing. 

He got dipped, just a little, before getting pulled back in. Close to Victor’s impeccable frame. He was classically trained too, that was a given. 

Something within him started to stir. It took him a while to understand what that uncomfortable feeling came from, but when he did, he leaned his head against Victor’s shoulder. Making sure to speak softly, almost inaudibly, against him. Sadly, with a trembling lower lip. 

“Oh, how I wish you could be him.” 

Everything became a blur after that.


	2. You shift your vibrational state

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (TenchiKai)
> 
> This is so fun, you guys! =D I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am!

He glanced at his phone. 00:37. He had been trying to avoid it, avoid looking at it. He knew what he would see if he started to busy himself with it. He would see absolutely nothing from him. Looking through their message history, he wanted to make sure that he had read it right. That message he got, earlier during the day. He’d read it over and over again by now, but he still wanted to make sure.

_‘I’ll have a busy day today, sorry. I’ll call you if I get the time, okay?’_

That was more than eight hours ago. Surely, he couldn’t still be working? Or, he knew that was a likely possibility, his work hours were disgusting more often than not with extremely late nights. That wasn’t his fault. But too busy to send even a _text_ ? For _eight hours_ ? That _was_ his fault.

He turned to his side, letting his hand skim over the other side of the bed. It was cold and empty, almost constantly these days. Not having him there, next to to him, created a void in so many different aspects. The proverb ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ had felt like an ultimate truth. At least in the beginning. Way back when they had moved in together, forced to be separated by work and all the other things that came with them trying to make their lives align. Desperately trying to hear from each other, keep in contact in any means possible. Now, that stupid proverb was more of a bitter reminder of what once was.

He still missed him, at times. He really did, but just not as often. The pain in his heart was becoming a dull ache instead of a sharp stab, thinking about him. He’d gotten used to his lavish promises, being told that they would be together the next time their schedules weren’t so busy. The next time they had, say, a weekend off together. Always those words too, ‘next time’. Rarely, it happened. The ‘next time’. All he wanted was for them to wake up next to each other, spend a day together doing all those silly little things that used to make them feel like they belonged to each other. Making them feel like their life really was all about them.

It was as if he’d been lulled into accepting that new way of looking at them. Their relationship. Their marriage. They weren’t to be trusted, the two of them. Promises had gradually lost their meaning. He remembered how it felt the first time, though. Maybe even the second time and the third, too. At first, he’d made excuses for him. Believed him. After feeling like he had been put in the shoes of a small child, upset about realising that promises actually could be broken and disregarded without any consequences at all on too many occasions, he’d forfeited. He’d reluctantly understood that it applied to them too.

The rift between them had continued to grow, until he was here, in this moment. Alone, a little past midnight, in the bed they were supposed to share. Without a text, without a call, without… anything. Had his husband even thought about him at all? Had he crossed his mind? He’d been so focused on thinking of something, anything else. Tried to sleep. Tried to talk to his friends.

Nothing worked.

He sighed. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to be wary of the thoughts that started to prod. The thoughts that somehow made him unable to break the cycle. Escape the loop. The thoughts that always ended up in the exact same place; How liberating it felt to ease the burden, to divert the feeling of abandonment. For them it had become a habit when they got together. When words were silenced by a touch or a kiss. When words could have taken them somewhere where they would start to matter to each other again, but instead the fleeting body contact led to something else. Something more. Something completely unnecessary.

In the heat of the moment, it felt good. It felt real. It gave him, and maybe even the both of them, false hope that there still was something there. Something deeper than the physical attraction. But when the breaths started to grow hotter, the words disappeared. When the touches became more serious and more teasing, there suddenly wasn’t anything left to be said. When their bodies, hungry for the attention that their minds were denied, closed the space between each other, they got lost to another language. A language that apparently couldn’t fix things. Not in the way they needed it to. But it was a language they both knew well, one that filled the emptiness ever so briefly. In a way, they were desperate to seek some kind of connection, and that had become the easy way out. A way to sate, to shut up, to pretend.

He was starting to understand that the sex was merely a bandaid on something deep. A wound that needed something else, something more. A wound that kept bleeding through. A fear started to creep, claw a little at his attention. One that was new, one that had yet to cross his mind. But lying there in bed, it became a loud, roaring sentence. A question. One he knew the answer to, if he really dared to feel and understand its meaning.

_It it too late for us?_

His hand found his phone, again. It had started to be a compulsion, looking at that text. Trying to find an alternative meaning to the few words, trying to see if he had actually promised something this time. Hanging on to hope and hope alone. When the phone suddenly vibrated in his hand, he didn’t know if anger or happiness was the right response.  A notification. _He_ had posted something on Instagram.

On instinct, he opened the app. Feeling the need to look, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d be unable to pull through the night. Deep down inside, he was hoping for something that would warm up that cold and empty bed. Make him feel like he was seen, wanted. Not forgotten. His chest tightened when he realised that he still could be disappointed in him, leaving him with a sense of being invisible, abandoned. Unimportant.

He looked blissfully happy in the newly posted picture. With a bottle of something, he couldn’t be bothered to zoom in and scrutinise the details, in his hand and someone else partially undressed clinging to him and obscuring his face. He’d seen that man before, he realised. The one being all over him.

The understanding that the one he considered to be his could do such a thing and show it off to the world was a new low. For the both of them. He’d done it and he, in return, had let him. He understood that this, this indescribable breach of what he thought that they had, was something he impossibly could ignore. He knew that they would have to talk about it.

But the moment never came. It was shoved to the side like always with the sweet nothings spoken into his ear and eager hands knowing exactly what to do to make him forget that emptiness. Ever so briefly.

They were definitely using the wrong language.

* * *

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Apparently, the hangover wasn’t the only thing memorable that morning. Strange, how he just kept revisiting all of those things that had been so hurtful, so devastating. Like all the happiness had ceased to exist. They had been happy once, the two of them. But it was unavailable to him, and that hurt. Making him feel as if he remembered it wrong, like he was mistaken. No, they had loved each other. Immensely. His heart still told him that, even though the feelings connected to that realisation just wouldn’t manifest themselves.

He put his glasses back and reached for his coffee cup. The hotel’s restaurant was incredibly busy, the noise making that dull throb in his head even worse. He always seemed to forget about that, how alcohol would make him feel the day after. He was painfully reminded that he probably was an idiot, doing the same things over and over again but expecting different results. He huffed in annoyance when that understanding came over him. That was exactly how it was, how it had been. Between _them._

Balancing his coffee cup by holding on to the _petite_ little ear of it, he took a sip. Relishing the feeling of the warm brew go down his throat. Adding some comfort to the chill he felt on the inside.

He looked out the window with a sigh. Paris probably was beautiful, but he couldn’t appreciate it. Not after yesterday’s events, his failures. Also, the prospect of visiting _The City of Love_ felt like a mockery to just that. Love. Here he was, alone, still heartbroken to some extent. Wishing for things to be different.

_I want to love you again. And I… want to be loved by you in return!_

He broke off a piece of his croissant, putting it into his mouth. He couldn’t taste its sweetness. It tasted bland, just like everything else. But inside, he felt a little warmer. A little calmer. Almost as if admitting that he had been carrying secret wish with him for… well, forever since then, opened him up some. Made him feel like there might be a small chance to redemption.

He took out his phone from his pocket. Opened the contact list. _How do I tell him this?_ He thought about it, his thumb suspended in mid-air. Ready to scroll down and find his name. Yes, how would he tell him that? That he just wanted it back. That he wanted his love and to love him back, unconditionally. Maybe the words would come, if he heard his voice. Maybe the sound of him would make the foggy mess in his mind just dissipate. Become clear, true and obvious, like it once had been. Way back when.

He started to scroll down, trying to find his name. Feeling slightly annoyed that he kept scrolling too far on either end, having to go back and forth. A sting of uncertainty came over him, borderlining panic. _I… still have him in there though? Right? I can’t remember deleting his number! I need to find_ ㅡ

“Good morning!”

He flinched, like he had been caught doing something forbidden. Something wrong. His reaction felt silly, amplified by the fact that he dropped his phone on the table. He was allowed to do what the hell he wanted, anything he wanted, with his goddamn phone. That was no one else’s business! _But why flinch?_

He looked up and felt his heart do something it never had done before. At least when he realised who had been seeking his attention by calling out that pleasantry. It both fluttered and sank. In that order.

“Fancy meeting you here. _Yuuri_.” Why did his name sound so different when delivered from his lips? “I thought you would be sleeping at least until early afternoon, but look at you!”

He diverted his eyes, they found a couple that walked hand in hand outside the window. His eyes followed them until they disappeared, lost in the hectic morning traffic on Rue de Rivoli. His eyes found their way back, back to that blue-eyed intruder who was doing the exact same thing as he did yesterday. He joined him. This time, without even asking.

“Oh, you’re almost done?” He sounded disappointed looking at just the croissant and the cup of coffee. “Care to sit with me for a while?”

He laughed at the absurdity. After all, _he_ had joined _him_ but… he was making it sound like it was the other way around. Like he was doing him a favor.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smiled, put an assiette with edibles, mostly fruit and cheese it seemed, on the table and pulled out the chair, trying to balance a cup of coffee at the same time. With one graceful move, he sat down. Angling his legs out from the table before crossing them. “So, did you sleep well?”

He just looked at him. He couldn’t understand why he was acting so familiar with him, what the purpose of that was. To Yuuri, it felt like everything this… this _trespasser_ did was either extremely thought out or totally whimsical. Not knowing, or rather understanding, which of the two that fuelled him was slightly uncomfortable.

“I… um… Yes, I did.”

“I never told you yesterday, but you're a great dancer.” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes veiled by the abundance of light lashes as he was looking down into his cup.

 _Oh. That._ That had been the last thing he remembered from the night before. He suddenly felt annoyed. With him for saying that, being either thought out or whimsical. With himself for doing… that. Wishing that he’d been _him._

He felt his cheeks heat up a little, remembering how he’d leaned into him. Saying those things furtively.

“Relax, we danced. Nothing more.”

‘Nothing more’ had never even crossed his mind, making his cheeks flare up some more. He needed to contain this, him. That impeccably dressed man opposite him. “Listen… Listenㅡ”

“Victor.”

“Victor.” _That’s right. Victor._ “It was nice yesterday. The drinks. The, uh, dance but I…” He sighed, and dared to meet his eyes.

Although he had a smile on his lips, his eyes didn’t mirror said smile. But he collected himself quickly and posed a new question. “How long are you here for, Yuuri?”

He started to feel slightly annoyed. It was like he was talking to a wall. No, someone being totally self-absorbed. Walls could listen, he wasn't convinced that Victor could. But he felt compelled to answer anyway. For some reason.

“Three more days.”

“Huh. That gives us plenty of time, don’t you think?”

“Time for _what?_ ”

“To get to know each other, of course. I’m staying here, you’re staying here. I’m alone, you’re alㅡ”

“I have someone! Or I… I had! It’s complicated.” He looked into his coffee cup. He’d forgotten all about it, it was more than half-full and probably lukewarm at best. He needed to keep his eyes on that cup for a little while longer, he realised.

“Oh? Complicated?”

“It’s… it’s private.” He felt mortified. He’d said too much already.

“You broke up a long time ago?”

“Divorced. We divorced. And yes, it was… a while ago.” It didn't matter that it felt like yesterday. He didn’t need to know that.

A silence spread out.

When he heard Victor sigh, he dared to look at him. Just briefly. He had shifted a bit, had his head propped up on the arm that was resting on the back of the chair. Looking out the window.

Still looking out the window, watching traffic or maybe something else, he spoke. “How old are you, Yuuri?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to answer him. “I’m twenty-four.”

“So young and still so sure, huh. He, and you’ll have to forgive me if I’m wrong but I was thinking for some reason that you were married to a he, must have been your one true love, then. For you to take that step.”

He wasn’t ready for that. To have that kind of conversation with someone else and certainly not with him. A random stranger that seemed more self-centered than anything else. Picking and prodding with his questions. Making him feel weepy. Disturbing him when he was about to call him, his “one true love” as he’d put it.

He couldn’t hold back that embarrassing sniff, that appalling sob. Bowing his head, hoping that he wouldn’t end up making a scene.

“Is he worth it? All this heartache? Sounds to me that your marriage was beyond complicated.” He paused, the soft clink of the coffee cup getting placed on the table revealed that he’d been taking a sip. “But you want to fix it.”

He tried to find some composure before he answered. Tried to make sure that his voice wouldn’t quiver. He kept his head low, just in case he would fail. “N… yes. Yes, he is. When it’s good. And yes, I want to. To fix it.”

“Can you? From here? From a hotel in Paris when being affected by, let me guess, everything thinking about him makes you feel?”

Yuuri sensed that he was the centre of attention now and not the traffic. He closed his fists, put them underneath the table. To him, he was just about to make some of it right when he’d been interrupted. And now, being scrutinised by someone who had invaded him, his personal space and his thoughts were he wasn’t at all welcome, and having to answer questions, personal ones to boot, made him want to get away from him.

But instead of leaving, he stood up for what he considered to be none of his business. Albeit in a very low voice, making the retort feel toothless. “You’re prying. Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

Except for hearing the odd slurp of coffee, they were silent. He dared to peer at him after a while, but he had found something interesting on the other side of the window again, those blue eyes seemingly distant. He was absentmindedly putting grapes in his mouth between the sips of coffee, on occasion a strawberry.

He wondered if he felt the same way, uncomfortable about the fact that he’d stepped over the line. Asked things that he should have left alone. Assumed things he should have. Probably not, he concluded. He seemed lacking in the self awareness-department.

“Have you been to The Louvre?”

“Huh?” To him, it was hopeless. He couldn’t understand the inner workings of his breakfast companion.

“Have you beenㅡ”

“I heard you. I just, no I haven't, but I mean… why?”

Yuuri watched as Victor stood up, and popped in the last little grape into his mouth. After swallowing, smacking his lips softly to maybe savor the taste one last time, their eyes met. He was taken aback by his expression, distant and thoughtful. Seemed like there was more to him that he initially had thought. He was more, so much more than the persona he had dressed himself in yesterday. That carefree, seemingly unfazed person seemed to have been spirited away.

“You know,” Victor said with a voice that carried something else with it in its tone, something that, at least to Yuuri, sounded disheartened. “I think it was van Gogh who said ‘Art is to console those who are broken by life’.” He stood immovable before he offered Yuuri his hand. “Come. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

  
It was only a short walk, down Rue de Rivoli, left towards the Seine down Rue de l’Amiral de Coligny and finally, right into Cour Carré.

The walk was silent. Victor took the lead, obviously knowing where to go with confident strides and eyes in front. Yuuri, being half a step behind, watched. Watched the pulse of Paris, its traffic pounding, its people crowding. And there they were, not following its rhythm. On their way to do something else entirely. Not going with the flow, not following the surge. Fighting it because of, well, a whimsical offer proposed during breakfast.

He wasn’t only watching Paris, its traffic and its people. He was watching him too. The black coat acting as a contrast to his silver hair, his hands being put in its pockets with a small shrug. How his breath became a mist when exhaled. How he, just once, looked over his shoulder to see that he was following him. Smiling when their eyes met. That was the only time when Yuuri didn’t look, when his eyes shied away.

It was tough, understanding why he’d said yes to him. It had happened twice now. Yes to a dance, yes to letting art console him. He didn’t want Victor to misunderstand and make assumptions as to why he’d said yes, yes to dancing, yes to art, but he realised that he wasn’t doing anything to make him not misunderstand. Not make assumptions. After all, he had interrupted him that morning when he was looking to console himself in the only way he knew, the only way he saw fit. He still wanted to do that. Make that call but… it would have to wait. Just a little while longer.

“Here we are.”

Victor’s voice made him look. It was fantastic. The Louvre. The epitome of the history of art.

“Let’s go in here,” Victor said, turning on his heel. “If we go in through the ground floor, we will spot her right away.”

“Victㅡ” He sighed, feeling like he was his shadow, something that just trailed him without having any say. Like maybe, just maybe, Victor had wanted company and he was the first person he thought of asking because, well, they had been sitting opposite each other and no one else had been around. If felt plausible, like something Victor would do based on the limited information he had about him.

“Here go you.” Victor handed him a map of the museum and said something to the woman at the ticket booth. She looked flustered, smiling from ear to ear when he touched her hand to get his card back, putting it in his wallet. “After you.”

“Wait, paying for theㅡ”

“All taken care of. So. Let’s see what art can do, hm?”

“Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Here, let’s go this way.”

They walked up a staircase, again with Victor taking the lead and Yuuri trailing behind.

“Victor?”

“Yes?”

“You do like art, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.” He stopped, waited for Yuuri to catch up.

“Why don’t we look at the things on the ground floor? The things on the lower level?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m very specific with what I like.” He smiled a little. “Like this beauty.”

Yuuri looked up. He recognised the statue immediately. Not just of it being iconic but he’d studied art before. Briefly, while being in America for a while. That belonged to that other lifetime too. The one he heatedly wanted back.

“The Winged Victory of Samothrace.” He felt a stir inside. Seeing that piece, standing in front of it… He felt awestruck.

“Oh, so you know her? I love her.” Victor’s voice sounded far away to him, distorted by the way the statue made him feel.

They stood next to each other for something that felt like an eternity. Watching the marble almost come to life. How the billowing dress looked real and soft to the touch. How her wings could probably spread out even more, allowing her to take flight. How she, if she would have had arms and a head, would be roaring in victory, imbibing her followers with confidence and pride.

Although the piece was breathtaking, beautiful beyond compare, the vision of her made Yuuri feel something else inside. Something he needed to share.

"Don’t you think it’s sad? Sad that we can't experience her in all her glory, what she looked like when she was new." He couldn’t take his eyes off her, wondering what she really looked like. What emotions her absent face would convey if he could look upon it.

“You know,” Victor’s voice broke through the murmur of other visitors walking around them, “sometimes, it might be better to be graced by the gift of experiencing anything at all. She's still beautiful, although she's broken. Don't you think?"

 

**~**~**

 

They had separated, after silently walking up the flight of stairs to the first floor, after turning right to the gallery of paintings.

He didn’t care that he’d been left alone. He was feeling a little bit better, a little bit consoled by the fact that he’d experienced The Winged Victory of Samothrace, Mona Lisa, Liberty Leading the People. With a slight bitterness, he realised that his wayward companion had said something that stuck with him. There was a truth to his words, that it might be better to be graced the gift of experiencing anything at all. He hated the fact that he was right.

He walked down the hallway of 19th century French pieces, leaving Liberty behind. He spotted Victor, standing fixed with his eyes on a painting. When he approached him, he turned his head to acknowledge him before getting lost in the painting again.

“Oh, there you are. Enjoying yourself?”

“I… I am, actually. Thank you.”

He got that little chuckle in response, making him feel at ease for some reason. It was as if Victor was saying ‘I told you so’ without words.

“So,” Yuuri resumed, “who is this?”

Three men were standing in a small boat, trying to battle not only wind and waves, but people hanging on to all sides of the small vessel.

“This is Delacroix. The Barque of Dante. Are you familiar with The Divine Comedy, Yuuri?”

“Barely.”

“You know its premise?”

“Wellㅡ”

“Dante is travelling through Hell, Purgatory and Paradise. Shortly put.”

_Him interrupting me is really annoying!_

“Here, in Delacoix’s painting, we see Dante.” Victor pointed to a man dressed in a red cowl. “This is Virgil,” he pointed to a man dressed in brown robes, “and this the ferryman Phlegyas, taking them across the River Styx.”

“And tortured souls clambering onto the boat.”

“Yes. What does this painting say to you?”

Yuuri couldn’t stop the laugh, albeit small and of a one syllable kind, from escaping his lips. Leaving Japan, he never thought that he would be standing in The Louvre, getting a strange art appreciation class from someone he’d met not even a day before. He felt slightly amused. And surprised by that fact.

“Well,” Yuuri said after a moment of contemplation, “what stands out to me are the souls in the water. Some of them look more purposeful than others, I guess. But these two here,” he made small circles in the air over a man and a woman, “they look hopeless to me. Like they have tried to maybe get into the boat and just accept their fate? Like all is lost to them.”

“Mhm?” It sounded like a challenge. Like Victor wanted him to give him more. “You know, Delacroix was twenty-four when he painted this.”

 _Or maybe not._ Yuuri sighed internally. He had this strange way of pushing him with his words. Like he knew exactly how to go about it to evoke things within him. The most annoying thing was that he couldn’t follow him, his intentions. If it really was out of whimsy or if he had a thought behind it all. He felt ridiculously provoked by him.

“Do you know what I think about when I see this painting, Yuuri?”

“No, how could I possibly?” He felt stupid for letting it shine through, his annoyance with him. After all, he should be thankful for being given the opportunity to see all this, for being given an opportunity to experience all this. The beauty. The broken. Before he could apologise, his ears heating up out of shame for being disrespectful, Victor leaned his head back and succumbed to a hearty laugh.

“Of course you don’t!”

Yuuri saw other visitors stare at them. He looked at their faces, reading into their expressions. _‘Laughing in front of that painting, what’s wrong with them?’ ‘You are not alone, show respect!’ ‘Foreigners…’_

Victor covered his mouth with his hand, still bubbling out of joy. “Yuuri, I’m sorry. I just… no, it doesn’t matter.” He took a deep breath and resumed, still with a slight chime to his voice. “What I’m thinking when I see this painting is how calm he is. Virgil. Look at him. Why do you think that is?”

Yuuri leaned in a bit. True, the man in the brown, flapping cloak looked extremely serene. Strange, considering the burning city in background, the thrashing waters, the tormented souls grabbing the boat. “I… can’t really say.”

“This is just what _I_ think,” Victor smiled, “but see there. How he steadies Dante?” He pointed at the outstretched hand, ready to support. “I think he finds a calm in doing so. Being there, guiding him.”

The silent second was interrupted by Victor’s voice, sounding just as cheery as he’d been the night before.

“Let’s go downstairs. Come!”

His heart clenched when he was pulled by the hand. Battling the feeling of it around his own, the warmth of it against his. Battling the feeling of it being right and wrong in an excruciating discord.


	3. You lock it in, so it doesn't waver

He wasn't sure if it was a good thing, not that early in a relationship anyway. Wasn't sure if it was normal. But he had decided to make himself believe he felt the way he did because he loved him so much. That he wanted him to be his and only his. Not really attributing anything negative to his own behaviour at all. After all, he was looking out for _them_ that way. Someone had to.

He knew that he met a lot of people through work. Or, not only through work. He was open to others, to new ideas when he was being his private self too. A real social butterfly, going from person to person, flower to flower. Spreading, sharing. Being very unsparing with himself. And that was a problem. Not to _him_ , though. The way he acted never was a problem to him. He had always been that way, saw no reason to change. Life had worked for him so far. It was apparent that the one who needed to change, if it should be considered to be a problem with him being so social, was the one who had a problem with his behavior. At least, that was what he imagined.

Changing yourself when you don't view yourself as the problem is not only difficult, it's near impossible. Especially if the problem devours you and feeds your uncertainties at the same time. It's a love-hate relationship to have a problem of that nature. Being jealous. It wasn't a word he liked, one he wasn't familiar with. But that's what this emotion was. Jealously.

To him, it seemed like his need to keep him close grew exponentially after he heard the words he never thought he would be offered. ' _Yuuri, will you marry me'._ Getting a ring on his finger did nothing to soothe that inner unrest, that need to guard and stand up for what was his. The problem could probably have been settled easily, but nothing with them ever was. Especially when he didn't talk. He didn't dare. He just couldn't.

He thought about it often. What would he think of him if he said anything. If he would empty his heart, let him know how small he felt inside. If he would tell him that, whenever he saw him with someone else, he felt disregarded. When he laughed at someone else's jokes, touched someone else, he felt unloved. Yes, even when he spoke to someone else, he felt invisible. He would probably leave him knowing all that, he figured.

They were really different from each other, that had initially been their mutual charm. But now, it had become a bother. With him savoring the peace and quiet of their home more than anything, but knowing that the one he wanted to share that with felt tethered… How would that work, really? He never found out, because he kept it a secret.

Of course, he would impair him if he told him. How would he be able to function if he knew that he had an anxious, distraught partner at home? Someone who would fantasise, make up totally incoherent fabulations about what he was doing and to whom. Someone who would do all of that, all that fantasising and fabulating but at the same time, he would do something that was even more fatal, more devastating. He would blame himself. Talk himself into believing that he had pushed him away, simply because of him being who he was. With him doing all of the things that was the essence of him, all of the things he couldn't help himself doing. Down the road, he would believe that he'd pushed him into someone else's arms, pushed him into seeking something else. Only adding to that spiral of hopelessness.

That's why he followed him once. Just one time. Followed him to work and to all of that nonsense that usually happened afterwards. Because he loved him, wanted to be with him. Wanted to look out for all of that he wanted to keep as his and his alone.

At work, he had been the focal point. Not surprising, because that is what he was. Drawing people to him and getting pulled back in return. He was good at what he did, making people nod appreciatively. Telling him that everything was easy to him. That he was efficient. That he was flawless. That he was… all of that he couldn't stand other people say about him. All of that he wanted himself to say and be the only one allowed to do the very same. But he lowered his head, pretended not to hear. Biting his tongue and shattering on the inside.

At the nonsensical event that took place afterwards, they had come through the door together. He saw him get swept away immediately. And he had obliged without batting an eye. They were standing in opposite corners of the room within minutes. One fidgeting, one revelling. One barely looking, one basking. One shutting down, one opening up.

"Hey," someone had said, "are you with him?"

He had nodded hesitantly. Not knowing if it was good to be considered to 'be with him'. He wanted it to be, though. He clambered on to that thought.

"Hm? Really?" A pat on the back. "Hope he's treating you well."

He wondered what that was supposed to mean. Why wouldn't he treat him well? After all, they loved each other. They had proof of that, circular and golden proof of their adoration for each other. Placed upon each other's fingers not too long ago.

He dared to let his eyes wander. Feeling out of place. Out of league. Out of sight. Out of mind. He tried to bolster the little dignity he had left. That was only in his head, those thoughts. That it was a figment of his imagination. That it was the result of the winding road that had led him to where he was now. But inside, the feelings were real. So very real. Only adding a burden to his already hurting heart, an additional pair of hands around his already narrowing throat.

"Hey, doing okay?" His voice coming from behind, a hand on his head, a drink being offered with the other.

"I…" _I'm not._ "I'm fine."

"Fun, huh?"

"Well…" _No._ "I guess."

"Beats sitting home, don't you think?"

"Um…" _Not without you._ "Uh-huh."

"Glad to hear it. I wouldn't want you to think that it's borㅡ" His hands disappeared. He did too. Swept away by all of that he feared would take him.

Hands on him, mouths on him, eyes on him. And he never seemed to mind. He seemed to embrace it, rather. Doing all of the things that he feared he'd do, with the only difference that he was watching him. He was watching him being with someone else, laughing at someone else's jokes, touching someone else and getting touched in return.

Here, like this, he never felt more like an alien. Never felt more like he didn't belong. Didn't belong at this party, didn't belong with him. He was different. So very different. But he kept it inside.

At the nonsensical event that took place afterwards, they had come through the door together. No one noticed that he left alone. Not even the one who should have.

* * *

He sighed at his own reflection in the mirror. Battling memories, both old and new. Wanting the old to stop being so hurtful and kind of needing the new ones to do the same. Fact is, it had been lovely. The time he and Victor had spent the day before, looking at art in all its manifestations at The Louvre. Letting art console. Again, the memory of those short but intense hours being with him seemed to not only make him feel better, but rendered him totally defenseless, just like the night they first met. He didn't want that. He didn't want Victor to make him feel better, he didn't want him to make an effort. He didn't want hours to be just that. _Lovely._ Not with him!

When they had returned to the hotel, they separated. Victor sending him off with a little wave, one he pretended that he never saw. A 'goodbye' uttered behind his back and a 'see you tomorrow' being called in a questioning voice, loud and clear, when he headed for the lift. He pretended that he never heard any of those cheery, hopeful interjections. To Yuuri, it was distracting. All those little things Victor did just to, what? Be nice? Make him feel better? Flirt? _Oh please, no. Anything but that._

He reached for his toothbrush, dampening it under the stream of water before applying the toothpaste. He felt awful. Awful for not making the call he promised himself that he'd make. He'd been too disconnected when being left alone after returning, too conflicted by what he'd been experiencing, that he just gave up. Made himself as small as he possibly could in that cold and empty bed and fell asleep. And now, whisking the toothbrush around in his mouth, he knew that he had to pay the price. He had to work that courage up again, try to find all of that he'd lost yesterday when being interrupted at the breakfast table. He needed to make that call.

While he got dressed, he decided that he had to get outside. Maybe him being motion could settle some of the things he felt inside, help him find his way. Help him find that last piece of the puzzle he needed as to why he was actually stalling what he couldn't take his mind off of. The reunion he sought.

He put on his jacket, made sure that he had his phone, earbuds, wallet and key card before closing the door behind him. He was going to do exactly what Victor had made difficult for him yesterday. He would become one with the pulse of Paris. Walk to the Parisian beat until his mind had cleared, until he had reached that little piece of courage inside that had gotten lost.

He walked into the lift, rubbing shoulders with some of the people already inside. Nodding apologetically for invading their space. That was the last thing he wanted to do, to make someone else uncomfortable because of his presence. He tried to angle in his shoulders in order to take up less room but it didn't help.

Being the first one to get out of the lift once the doors opened, he headed down the hallway to get to the lobby and ultimately, the outside as quickly as he could. He kept his head low, tried to focus. It felt as if a lot of things were riding on him being concentrated. He never acknowledged that thought, being pressed down by a thousand of others, smothered before it could reach his conscious mind. The thought that would have made him realise that he probably was grasping for straws. But it was just as well.

He reached the lobby, crossing the reception area and walked down the few steps to get to the exit.

"Hey! Yuuri!"

_Honestly! It must be a joke!_

Hearing Victor's voice made him speed up. What were the odds, really. Of them meeting again. _Unless…_ He quickly felt that thought dissipate. He felt annoyed. He couldn't deal with him now, not today.

"Going out?"

His voice sounded closer now, but he pressed on. Making it to the outside.

"Want to have breakfast?"

Yuuri stopped and turned around, jolting when their eyes met. Victor was too close, not even an arm's length away. A hand pushing back that silver coloured hair, his smile engaging those blue eyes. He had his coat in his hand for some reason, he wasn't dressed for the weather outside.

"Are you in a hurry?"

"Victor, I can't doㅡ"

"Can I come?"

"I want to beㅡ"

"Doing anything special?"

"I just need toㅡ"

"It's settled then!" With those words, Victor had started to put his coat on.

Yuuri felt cold inside, not due to the weather. He backed away, just the one step, needing the distance. "Stop! Victor, no! Just… no. No, I'm not in a hurry. No, you can't come! No, I'm not doing… anything. Special."

He watched him. His reaction. Like he had been suspended in time with one arm partially through the sleeve of his coat. Their eyes met in that little window of a situation, before Victor's arm found its way through the sleeve, before he put his hands in his pockets with a sigh.

"It's still complicated, huh? Yuuri?"

It was. So much more than yesterday, but Yuuri had no intention of letting Victor know that. He just needed him to back off, and maybe just… leave him be. He wasn't making anything easier. Being intrusive, interrupting and forward.

Yuuri pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, trying his best not to look at his feet. He wanted to seem sure, decisive. He needed to tell him, he realised. He couldn't have him scampering around him like that. Popping up when he least expected him to. Making him forget what he was supposed to do.

"Yes," Yuuri said. "And you… you know what? You're not making it easier!"

"I'm not doing anything." Victor's eyes followed some people passing them on the street. Hopping from person to person as they came into his line of sight.

It was like they were doing it again. Resisting the pulse, the rhythm. Making it, or rather the people that made it up, veer. Bending around them like they were a constant. Something unattached, free from the fetters of time and space. Yuuri hated that feeling. He wanted to find all the things that had tied him down before, all the things that made him feel like he was holding it together. Because now, he was crumbling.

"It's like you're following me. I-it makes me uncomfortable. Stop it. Also, I told you yesterday. I have someone."

"Yes, you told me. You said it was complicated. You've… never thought that it might be the other way around?"

He inhaled, being caught totally off-guard. He knew for a fact that it wasn't so, what he was implying. Why would he keep saying things like that, annoy him like that? Like he considered his feelings to be the simplest feelings anyone had ever felt, easy to sort out and handle. It was like he was _trying_ to tease something out of him, trying to see what he could get away with for some reason. Right then and there, Yuuri realised that he'd had enough. Enough of him, his words, his strange insinuations. His whimsy, his way of appearing when he wasn't wanted.

With a voice that probably was too low for Victor to hear, standing in the middle of the street with people flooding around them to both left and right, he said the only thing that came to him. "Don't be ridiculous."

With that, he left. Walked down Rue de Rivoli in search of all of that was missing.

 

**~**~**

 

The same path as the day before. This time, he didn't stop at The Louvre. He kept on going, trying not to let his feelings that had been tied up to the place get the best of him. To distract himself, he put the earbuds in. Trying to be quick about starting one of his playlists. He wanted to be swept away by other things entirely.

Walking down Rue de Rivoli led him to Place de la Concorde. He knew that the square was one of the bigger ones in the city. Its stone-paved walkways had seen history and cruelty beyond compare, he had read that somewhere. The square had played a huge part during the French Revolution, with the guillotine ending the lives of many a noble.

He sat down on the edge of one of the fountains, barely paying attention to its rich decorations. Barely feeling the cold from the stones, slowly seeping into him. He was lost in thought, thinking not only about himself, but also of the fate that befell people taken to this place, hundreds of years ago.

He tried hard to remember what they had barely touched in history class. European history was romanticised in Japan, and the time around the Revolution had been treated in the same glittering way as a lot of other table-turning events. Events that weren't pleasant at all, but had led to changes that people just had to cope with. Not being able to influence them at all.

The king during the Revolution, he believed it was Louis XVI, was one of the first to meet his fate here. That indecisive king who had locksmithing as a hobby, that king that couldn't even make his court listen to him or even speak up against his wife. But one thing he apparently had been successful doing, was to suffer. He found it strange that he remembered such details and sadly, the similarities didn't pass him by.

With a sigh, he stood up and continued to walk. Not really knowing why, his feet started to move down Champs-Élysées.

He was relieved that he had music in his ears. Seeing the traffic, both pedestrian and motor driven, he understood that the world outside was filled with other noises. Intrusive noises. A clamour he didn't want to let in, feeling apprehensive what it would to do him if he allowed it to. He needed to be alone with nothing by music soothing him, holding him by the hand.

The brief little flash of a memory consisting of blue eyes narrowing out of joy as a hand enveloped his made him change the track in his ears immediately. He would have to delete that song later.

The walk down Champs-Élysées took a while. Due to the crowd, he moved slow. Trying hard not to look at anyone and anything else than straight ahead. Trying not to stand out or claim space. He got a brief sensation of being swallowed, devoured by the pulse he'd been wanting to join earlier during the day. He shuddered a little, now realising that he was cold due to the raw air and for sitting down at the fountain at the Place de la Concorde. Oh, and due to the fact that he hadn't been eating breakfast.

He bought a coffee to go at a small café, flinching at the price and wrinkling his nose when he tasted it. It was hard for him getting his point across today, apparently. Milk was in the coffee that he ordered black. He scoffed a little, trying to enjoy the taste as he felt himself getting a little warmer with every sip. Maybe it wasn't that bad after all, that unwanted surprise.

He could see it in the distance, growing ever so slightly with every step. The Arc de Triomphe. He reached it eventually, carrying his empty paper cup with him. Suddenly feeling a bit awe-struck by the landmark. He looked around, watching as cars came from all kinds of directions, going through the roundabout only to exit down another road. _The pulse of this city comes through here. Everything leads up to this place._

It became a small project to him, to count how many roads that led down to the Arc. He decided to walk around it, trying to remember to look to the left first instead of the right before crossing over road after road. After finally getting to the other side of the monument, being honked at and met by irritated stares because he actually did forget to look to the left at all the crossings, he thought he had counted twelve different roads leading up to where he was standing. He could only imagine what it looked like from above, with so many different paths leading up to one particular place. A place where things eventually would meet, come together and maybe go back the way they came from. Although unlikely, with eleven other options being available.

Of course, how often did people really go back the road from whence they came? Knowing what it would do to them if nothing changed at all? Being hurt, executed, left to their own devices? He felt somewhat thankful for his feet leading him to that place. Somehow, he understood what he needed to do now. Maybe, just maybe, taking the same road would make him find what he thought to be lost. And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to make small turns to make the journey easier, but still making sure that he would keep himself true to that road? He felt in within himself, it couldn't be the wrong one. After all, that road he once had travelled, had led him straight to _him_.

He walked back the road he came from. Trying to up his pace, feeling hindered by the pulse, the people walking down Champs-Élysées. When he reached Place de la Concorde, he took another way. Heading down the southern exit of the square down to the Seine, walking along Quai de Tuileries. He felt lost, all of a sudden. He didn't understand where he'd taken a wrong turn, but decided to walk on. Knowing very well that if he kept walking, he would eventually find something he recognised. Something that would make it easier for him to find his way.

For some reason, he crossed the Seine. Feeling a slight clench in his throat, it being crowded by his heart, a building stress and something he really couldn't understand. He realised after walking a while that he wasn't following the pulse anymore. He needed to get back to the other side, trying to strike up a conversation with stressed locals, locals that kept pointing further down the road.

"I need to cross," he said, getting nods in return. "Can I cross over there?" He decided to carry on, give them the benefit of the doubt that he would end up where he should.

He saw a bridge in the distance, feeling the tightened sensation in his throat ease up a little. He decided to cross, sighing with relief when he understood that he was close now. Close to the other side, close to the road he wanted to follow. But, just like that, he strayed. Seeing the building across the bridge, further down that island he'd ended up on. He just needed to look, get a little bit closer. Feeling a pull, an indescribable need to get within its vicinity.

It was a church. Not understanding it, that he'd come across Notre Dame, he stood and let the sight fill him up. The rose shaped window in its middle, its pattern, its meaning. The intricacy of the architecture, the spire. The couple standing in front of it. He, dressed in black. She, dressed in white. Holding hands, getting closer to each other and finally, sealing their union in a way he once had himself.

Suddenly, it became clear to him. Even though he's taken a small turn, away from the road he had followed back, it had led him straight to the conclusion he wanted. He wanted _that_. He wanted all of that and he wanted it back. Back into his life so that he could heal, feel whole and complete once again. And it wasn't possible as it was now. Not without him.

It was as if his mind became focused on one thing and one thing only. To get back to the hotel and make that call. He would… yes, what would he do? Apologise? That, he could do. Beg? If he had to. Cry? Most definitely. He looked around, saw the bridge that would take him to the other side. Back to the path he was meant to take.

He felt compelled to jog, make the minutes a bit fewer at least but… He couldn't wait. So, that was why he pulled up his phone on that bridge. That was why he rested his lower arms on the guardrail. That was why he accidentally dropped it when all he wanted to do was to hurry. Seeing it fall out of his hands, hoping in a blind panic that the chord to his earbuds would act as a saving grace. Watching the phone fall into the Seine ended him that day. In more ways than one.

 

**~**~**

 

He stared at the water in disbelief for something that felt like a never-ending or timeless moment, before snapping back into reality. Getting brought back into his body by a burning sensation. It was like he was set aflame, like every part of him was combusting, with tears burning underneath his eyelids, his sobs burning in his throat, his heart burning inside his chest.

To him, it felt like a cruel joke. Like something larger than himself and his nervous hands had brutally told him that he had lost his chance, and now… it was too late. Too late to make it right, too late to rekindle all of that he so desperately wanted to embrace again. Too late for all of that he needed to feel inside.

With his hands in his hair, like the sensation of him holding onto himself would make everything more understandable, more tangible, his mind raced. So, what now? No phone. No contacts. No old texts! No photos! No memories! He sunk down on his heels, trying to breathe. Trying to see what other paths were available to him. He couldn't get past seeing the phone fall into its watery grave, reliving all of the things it made him feel seeing it disappear.

Something happened, it was either the rapid breathing or the tears, that made him lose control. They were feeding each other, the feeling of slowly losing what you have that grounds you and the externalised and liquid emotions of that very sensation. Looping, sustaining and building. But all he could do was to stay in it. Experience himself each the top of a hill, a slow and excruciating climb that made him dizzy. Lightheaded. Sick to his stomach. Just when he thought that it was going to happen, the thought that had crossed his mind time and time again after them parting ways, it ebbed out. Waned like the moon, disappeared like snow melting underneath the first sunrays of spring. It happened slowly, but it did happen. And afterwards, he was filled with sadness.

Gathering himself together, he couldn't think about options. He just put one foot in front of the other, trying to find his way back to the pretended sanctuary that was his hotelroom.

It was like a blur. How he had reached Rue de Rivoli, how he had found the entrance to the hotel. How he had entered through the doors, walked towards the lobby and how he'd seen… _Victor_. Something felt familiar with that scene for some reason. Hands on him, eyes on him, a mouth on him.

Right then and there, he didn't understand why but he was ended. In more ways than one.


	4. You take an action that is an expression

He wanted mornings to be spent like that. Hearing nothing but his steady breaths, the way his exhales made the tiniest little squeak when they passed through his nose. The way those exhales, more often than not, caressed the nape of his neck with a diminishing warmth. A sensation that, as soon as it had disappeared, touched him again and again in a seemingly endless loop. Soothing him. Lulling him into a state where he considered them to be untouchable, unbreakable, unbendable. Inseparable.

He was coming out of his sleep, he sensed it. His stomach wasn't touching his side whenever he drew breath, his breathing was more shallow now. Not reaching his neck anymore, leaving him with a feeling of longing for it to continue. Not before long, a finger slowly started to find its way underneath his t-shirt. Trailing his back in languorous, irregular patterns, making him shudder slightly. Leaving behind another kind of diminishing warmth, one not as lasting. The finger became two, then three, then a whole hand pressed against his back. That was his cue to greet him.

"Good morning."

He wasn't entirely with him yet, not really awake. He knew that it took a little while for him to get his head to catch up with his body. He felt the arm and the hand sneak around him, pressing themselves in between his stomach and the mattress. Wanting to hold on to him, maybe even deciding that he was the first thing he wanted to feel in the morning.

"Good morning, Yuuri." The response was slightly delayed, his voice sounded raspy when he finally answered. Not yet carrying that smooth, lavishing tone that his whole body reacted to without a heartbeat's hesitation. "Did you sleep well?"

He felt him tug at his t-shirt a little to gain access to him. He started kissing his back, not even a second after that gravelly sound of his voice, still full of sleep, got devoured by the silence shared between them.

"Yeah, I did." He found his hand, wedged between himself and the mattress and laced his fingers together with his. "Very much so."

It was true. Whenever they met, he preferred to go to his place. Not even considering the hassle involved, being driven by all the things he made him feel. Truth be told, his home was everything his own wasn't, he felt an obvious difference being there. It was filled with a warmth, made not by small huffs of air exhaled against the nape of his neck, but rather something much more intangible. Something more difficult to describe. Being surrounded by him, his things and his unquestionable love made him feel complete. That was probably why he could sleep, feel relaxed. Feel like there actually existed a place where he wasn't alone anymore. Where he had found a meaning and his life a substance.

"So… I was thinking. You know, about us?"

Somehow, that sentence made him tense up. Even though it was spoken softly, almost whispered into his ear, he lost his nerve. Got pulled from that space he wanted to stay in forever, realising that the relaxed and confident feeling from before became instantly inaccessible to him. He had wanted to turn around before, to see him, too look into his eyes, but hearing those words took it all away. He didn't dare to face what he wanted the most. Needed the most.

"Uh… uh-huh?" He tried to keep his voice steady, but in his mind, he saw the end of them. Incapacitating him to continue, fearing what he was going to hear next. Would the evenings together with him be no more? Would those soothing nights be nothing but a memory once the day, that had barely started no less, would come to an end? He didn't notice it, but he gripped his pillow tight with the hand that wasn't braided together with his.

"Thing is," he said while nuzzling his hair, "you have clothes here. A toothbrush next to mine. Don't you think it's time to do something about that?"

He felt his heart pound excruciatingly hard, making him inhale sharply. Not listening to the tone of his voice, now lavishly rewarding. He was trying to find the hidden meanings behind the words just spoken, knowing that there must be several. Just out of reach. Much like his thoughts that were flapping around in a wild panic without the intention of settling down.

"Wh-what do you mean," he stuttered. Holding his breath in a seemingly unbearable eternity. He knew already, he knew what he meant but he'd asked anyway. He knew that they came from two different worlds. Being nothing alike, with different backgrounds, personalities, professions and ways of communicating. That had become obvious during the months they'd been together.

Maybe it was just as well, to end it before it would become more complicated for the both of them. Before they became too attached although, at least for him, that was something that had happened already. He tried to steel himself, waiting for what was to come.

He was offered a small laugh in response, something he was taken aback by. Exactly what he was dreading, being made small and insignificant. A laugh at a time like this? His thoughts were brusquely interrupted by his voice, spoken directly into his ear.

"Yuuri, what do you think I mean?"

Why? Why was his voice strangely smooth, lavishingly rewarding? _Why now?_ With trepidation, he answered. Or tried to. "I, uh… I don'tㅡ"

"I want you here, of course."

"Wh… what do you mean?"

"Move in with me."

Now, he didn't dare to turn around due to other reasons entirely. If fear had claimed him before, something else took possession of him in that moment. The feeling of something reminding him of relief. He understood that was wanted, needed, loved. All of the things he had been too afraid to hope for but desperately yearning, ever since they met. The understanding that what he felt was reciprocated by that offer, said in a voice that was full of all of that he himself had trouble to convey, made him bite his lower lip. A pathetic try to keep what was rising to the surface to stay, down below.

As he felt a hand on his shoulder, wanting to turn him around, he covered his face with his arm. He didn't want to scare him away, make him think less of him. At the same time, he needed to hear that the offer still was on the table, despite his reaction.

"What's this?" His breath felt close, not caressing the nape of his neck anymore. Instead, it was tumbling over his lips. "I was hoping for another reaction," he continued with a voice that sounded teasing. Thoroughly enjoying what was playing out before him.

"You… you really want me to? To li-live here with you?" Although the message was clear, he wanted to hear him say it. He wanted him to help him shed the last veils of doubt still clinging to him. Needing him to tell him all that he so desperately wanted to hear.

Still with his arm over his face, he waited. Waited for his reply. Feeling the seconds accumulating, making him clamber on to his insecurities. Needing them to keep him safe by not getting his hopes up.

He couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop the gasp being pressed out of him when lips came to meet his. Feeling the softness, the seemingly never-ending tingle of a kiss sealing what had been proposed. And, just to make it right, so incredibly right, the sounds stringed together that melted his insecurities away.

"Yes. Yes, of course I want you to."

* * *

The sensation of feeling one arm around his shoulders and a hand flush against his chest made him leave the sanctuary of his own mind. Brought him back to something he tried his best not to recognise. The reality, as it were. The reality where he was alone, battling rejections and insecurities of old. But, also… something else. Something foreign to him. Something new.

He felt surprised when he understood that he was leaning against a wall, one hand and arm acting as a support against it. He couldn't trace or recall the minutes that led up to what made him stand there, forehead pressed close to the marble surface. It felt like a blessing. The dark and hard stone with its white veins being all that he could see, cooling him down. Following the patterns in the polished stone made him stay composed. But it was hard staying in that frame, that mindset, feeling that arm around him and that voice that kept calling his name.

Yes, that's what felt foreign to him. New. Not the arm or the voice, but rather, all the things those two components brought out. He couldn't make sense of it, of anything. Not the situation, his reaction, his disappearance into memories. Also, more importantly; Why was he being touched? Spoken to like that? He realised he didn't want that, not now.

He peered over his shoulder. Yes, he didn't want that. _Not from him._ The owner of those blue eyes and silver hair had brought him nothing but annoyance and conflicting realities for the last couple of days. Made everything much more complicated. Much more unmanageable. But he just wouldn't leave him be. He kept on circulating around him, showing up, tearing down.

Yes, that's how it was. He was tearing down his defenses, making his foundations shake. Leaving him open, vulnerable. Leaving him ready to be invaded, although he tried his best not to be conquered. He was diligent, that ever appearing intruder, being coercing, coaxing, swaying. It was wrong, it would definitely be wrong to let him inside.

"Hey, Yuuri? Are you doing okay?"

The words made him feel infuriated. The meaning of them sounded like an insult. No, he wasn't okay. Not at all. And the reason was because of him, he thought, standing there with an arm around him like he actually cared.

"Take your hands off me." He wasn't sure if he had managed to say it aloud, it could just as well been a thought inside his head. Since he got no reaction, or at least not the reaction he wanted, he decided that he must have kept it inside. The words had a tendency to do that, stay inside and not working to his favor.

He tried to shrug him off, the anger slowly morphing into something else. Something he knew he wouldn't show externally to anyone. Especially not to him. No matter the price.

"Take your hands off me, I don't want you close."

When the grip around him tightened instead, he understood that he'd lost another fight. One of many defeats that day.

"What floor?"

He felt the hand that was pressed against his chest vanish, heard a small click. Shortly after, the lift arrived. Accompanied by a small chime.

"Yuuri, if you're not telling me what floor you're on, you're coming with me. You decide."

"I… I'm not going with you. Just letㅡ"

"Great, then we're going to your room. What floor?"

This is probably what it meant to surrender. The core meaning of the word. Being led someplace where you never wanted to go, being led by someone you wanted to rid yourself of. Being overpowered by all of that you wanted to keep inside, brought out by seeing things you wish you never had and by remembering all that you wanted to forget. Being forced down on your knees by circumstance after circumstance, by some kind of sadistic divine intervention. Leaving you resigned, not caring. Not sticking up for yourself.

"Th-three." As soon as he said it, he wanted it undone. The little beep of a button being pressed told him that there was no possible way of making it so. Shortly after, the doors closed and the lift started to move.

After a brief pause, almost as if he was making sure that the lift was going upwards, Victor spoke. "Did something happen?"

Yuuri clenched his teeth in defiance. Sure, he could be led wherever, forced into showing his innermost feelings but if any question was to be graced with an answer, that was his decision and his decision alone. Realising that made him feel better, if only for a second. He'd made him do too much already, pushed him too far.

The lift chimed again. The small beep could just as well been something foreboding, calling out the end of days. He really didn't want him that close. Not that warm either. And certainly not that caring, with an arm around him like that, a hand cradling his shoulder. Asking him things, trying to understand. He had no reason to, he had no obligations towards him. They had just met. But still, he did, and that was beyond his understanding.

He felt a small push over his shoulder blades, coaxing him to move. He felt his feet move on their own accord, towards his room. All he could see was the green carpet with its yellow, repetitive pattern of a fleur-de-lis. At least until he stopped in front of a door.

"Is this it? Your room?"

He decided to stay true to what he'd decided before. Without responding, he put his hand in one of the pockets of his jacket and took out the keycard. He hesitated, thinking what it would entail to let him in. To allow him to breach the final outpost that actually could keep him away, simply by letting him inside. Somewhere within him, he figured that the situation couldn't become worse. It had already spun out of control in so many different ways.

He unlocked the door, deciding not to care if he would follow him inside or not.

 

**~**~**

 

Although Victor had followed him inside, he'd kept his distance. Ever since he let go of his shoulder, he'd been allowing him space. Standing silently by the window, looking at something outside. Shifting every once in awhile, letting his legs rest by leaning a little against the back of the black leather armchair placed in front of the window.

Yuuri glanced at him, every now and then. Trying hard not to make it obvious that he was. Even though the room was small, the distance felt enormous for some reason.

He averted his eyes from him, continued to look alternatively at his hands or his feet. What was the point of this strange arrangement? As his mind started to slow down, as he started to gain access to all of the things that had been racing, he remembered. He'd been caught downstairs, just moments after seeing something that felt painfully familiar. Something that had made him react in a way that made him incredibly surprised, considering that they'd just met. Considering that he was invested in someone else.

Even though he'd been trying to keep him away, trying to be as abrasive as he dared to be in that precarious situation, he had remained by his side. With one arm across his shoulders and a hand pressed against his chest, eventually escorting him to his room. And now, they were separated by a strange situation and many things unspoken, but still uncomfortably close.

There was a tension there. An indescribable tension that he wasn't sure his now silent and uncharacteristically respectful follower shared. He looked relaxed enough, arms crossed over his chest and not giving him any attention. He was probably not tapping into that suffocating thickness, Yuuri thought. He couldn't help but feel incapacitated, trembling where he sat on his bed.

"Yuuri?" His voice sounded mellow, breaking through the silence. Not making any of the tension disappear. Rather adding to it.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to answer him. He wasn't even sure if he wanted him there, still. He thought about saying something, anything, maybe even ask him to leave but nothing came out. Maybe it was just as well, being silent wouldn't add to anything. Not make anything worse.

"I understand you are upset. I'm just curious as to why that is." He paused briefly, it sounded like a small sigh passed through his lips. "If it's because of Mr. Complicated or something else."

He removed his glasses and put them next to him on the bed. There was something burning inside him, something he knew all too well. He wasn't sure if he could stifle it, but taking his glasses off was a preemptive move. He rested his forehead on his clasped hands, trying to breathe. He wouldn't allow him to take him down that path again, there was no way.

"I'm sorry. I know you saw me and I'm sorry if that upset you. He's someone from work, noone special. For what it's worth, I just wanted you to know that."

It was a strange range of sensations following his words. First, the feeling of being struck by lightning, where everything goes numb and silent. When you're taken to another reality, one where time stops on the outside but rushes by inside you. Then, the feeling of a cold harshness spreading out, taking over his entire being. Then, something warm. Yes, something small and warm pulsating through him, fighting the cold. Starting in his chest and ever so slowly spreading.

The warmth reached his neck, his face, his ears. Apparently, he knew? He'd seen him too? Seen him and his reaction to something that wasn't his business, something that shouldn't upset him. But it had and for some reason, Victor was the one apologising? Suddenly, he wanted to say something, ask even more, but he fought both a heat and a tremble that made him silent.

He could hear him move from across the room. It sounded like he wasn't just shifting legs, leaning back against that armchair. No, he was walking now. Soft steps against the floor, the muffled taps of the heels of his shoes being evidence enough. He was decreasing the distance between them but intensifying that other thing, that smothering tension.

Although he didn't look up, he sensed him. Sensed him standing close, radiating not only a determination but also something much more mellow. Something he reluctantly admitted that he had longed to experience in a person. A friend. A lover. _What are you thinking?! No. No, no, no, no, no!_

"Can I…" As always, or at least keeping true to the character he up until now had portrayed himself as, he invited himself to sit down on the other side of the bed without waiting for an answer.

The bed made its disapproval known due to the added weight, filling out the brief silence with a squeaky cry.

"Do you want me to leave?"

The question felt like a slap across the face, adding to the heat he already fought. He realised that he could just press it out, say 'yes' and get it over with. Try to regain some control, find that peace of mind he sought so desperately, remove all that was complicated and intrusive so he could focus on what… what was still complicated?

He sensed his vocal chords vibrate, felt his tongue and lips form the sound together. He realised that he spoke. "N-no… " He felt surprised to hear his own voice, even more so when he, almost under his breath continued. "Stay."

He could feel his eyes being on him. He briefly looked to his left, saw just a speck of blue before continuing to look down on his feet. He was hoping that he hadn't shown too much of his face, it felt scorching against his hands as he leaned into them again.

"So…" Victor's voice sounded like before. Unaffected by all and everything, even the things left unsaid. "Tell me Yuuri. How was your walk?"

Of all the things he could possibly ask, he asked something so mundane? So trivial? He couldn't help but to scoff a bit, out of surprise and disbelief, before he surprised himself even more by answering. "I… I lost my phone. In the river."

"Oh. That complicates things even further, huh?"

He nodded, and accompanied the nod with a defeated sigh.

"So, you never contacted him?" Victor's voice carried something strange, a tint of hopefulness maybe?

"N-no. I… wanted to but it just… I just…"

He felt Victor shift next to him, like he was turning around to face him. He didn't look up, though. His eyes were firmly attached to his shoes, following the how the laces were tied in never-ending loops.

"I see. Has he tried to call you? Before you dropped it?"

He groaned internally. Why did he made it sound like losing the phone was intentional? It rubbed him the wrong way. But the question, and it was an excellent question, made him lose that sting of irritation he felt as he tried to look for an answer in all the memories he had at his disposal.

The realisation was devastating, but he answered even though his throat was narrowing. Even though he felt the slight pricking underneath his eyelids. Even though he knew his voice would be unsteady. "N-no. Not once."

Instead of having his head resting on his hands, his hands aimed to cover his mouth. He tried to be quick about it, but a small whimper made its way out. Even before he had managed to put up the fortifications made out of flesh and bone.

When he felt an arm on his back, not invited or asked for but still strangely comforting, he wept. Tried to make it dignified, tried to be as quiet as he possibly could despite sniffs and sobs and quivering exhales.

"I'm sorry, Yuuri. Breakups they… well, they bring out the worst in people. Or tend to at least. There's usually a lot of pride, a lot of hurt. Things being piled up and when it happens, that final argument, it…" His voice died out, like he was searching for the appropriate thing to say. Not having that much cheek to his voice now. It was more like he was meeting him where he was.

With a little sigh, he got closer. Almost resuming the way he had his arm around him from before. He finally continued, with a soft tone in his voice. "It gets ugly. More often than not. But," he said whilst leaning in, being too close to his face, "I'm sure he loved you. Want to know why?"

He shook his head, in an almost invisible gesture. He didn't trust his own voice, he'd lost dominion over it entirely. He knew that he didn't want to hear Victor's conclusions, something he based off of spending a few hours with him over the course of a couple days. He didn't know anything about _them_ , he wasn't entitled to share whatever he thought of them.

Not surprising, he did it anyway. "If he never loved you, you wouldn't feel this way. You wouldn't feel the need to miss him, right? You wouldn't feel the need to chase and long for all of the things that now are lost? You, well… I guess you wouldn't want him back if he never loved you. And, knowing that he did once might be comfort enough."

 

**~**~**

 

He lost track of time. Or the perception of time. They could have been sitting there, next to each other, for minutes or even hours, but it didn't matter. The feeling of having someone close, not really saying much but saying the right things when words were shared, was new to him. It felt comforting, he wasn't used to that kind of closeness when feeling upset.

When he'd been together with _him_ , the one controlling his memories, it had been different. Discussions had been hard, arguments had been impossible. He rarely felt listened to, and as their relationship had gotten worse, he had felt invisible. Every discussion, every argument had cemented the fact that they were different, so very different. The fact that they had considered themselves as individuals to be more important than as a couple had made it impossible.

"Yuuri?" Victor's voice sounded low, maybe due to the fact that he had his head resting on Yuuri's shoulder now, "I know you're not a bad person, and I don't think that he is either. Maybe you both had a bit of growing to do but came across each other too early."

Yuuri cleared his throat before speaking. "I appreciate this, I do but I… I justㅡ"

"You don't have to explain."

Feeling Victor shift next to him, feeling his arm disappear and his head leave his shoulder started something inside him. A feeling he wasn't ready to deal with. He reached for his glasses, biting his lower lip in a futile attempt to make that feeling veer. He put them on with a sigh, one that vibrated a bit too much for his own liking.

He tried to gather some confidence by looking at his hands, clasped together in his lap, before he looked a little to his left. Being met by those blue eyes the first thing, made him swallow.

"Join me tonight." Victor sounded matter of factly, with a face impossible to read. Calm and expressionless.

It's strange how many thoughts that can actually come across one's mind in a couple of seconds. With his heart beating its way out of his chest, he tried to answer, tried to sound unaffected by what he'd just heard, by what was racing through his mind. "To-tonight? Joinㅡ"

"For dinner, Yuuri." He huffed, seemingly amused. "I'm going to leave you now, but I'll see you tonight, I hope."

"I, uh… I… Wh-what time?"

"Come when you're ready, whenever after six. I'll be downstairs. Okay?" He stood up, adjusted his sweater a bit before grabbing his coat, placed on the bed. With a small smile, he headed towards the door.

"Victor? I just…" He stood up too, walked the few steps over to him.

"Hm?"

"I… no, just… thank you."

He gasped when Victor's hand touched his face, trailing a small circle underneath his eye with his thumb. Just below the rim of his glasses.

"No, thank you. _Yuuri._ See you." With that, he opened the door and closed it behind him.

Yuuri stood and listened. Tried to hear him walk away on the other side of the door, but not catching even the slightest sound. Without being able to resist, he looked through the peephole, and saw Victor still standing there. He was putting on his coat, with a small smile on his face. He flinched when he saw him wave a little, before pulling his hand through his hair and giving him a small wink before disappearing out of reach of the fisheye lens. Like he knew he was watching him.

He couldn't decide what made him feel weak at the knees. The lingering sensation of a half circle being drawn underneath his eye by a warm thumb, of the accelerated beats of a heart screaming that it wanted to be mended by another.

* * *

When they found each other's eyes that evening, Victor stood up to greet him. Blue eyes shining just as much as the radiant smile.

"Yuuri! Just in time, come!"

"Hi, Iㅡ"

A peck on the cheek.

"Victor, whaㅡ"

And another.

"Um, Iㅡ"

And another.

"We're in France, Yuuri. It's customary. Please, sit." Victor nodded at the chair opposite his. "You don't mind that we're eating here, I hope?"

"I, um…" He felt flustered. By that radiant smile, eyes just as delighted. By the _customary_ greeting. "No, no, it's… It's fine, really."

"Great! Are you hungry?"

He was. Ravenous, even. He nodded, feeling a slight heat on his cheeks. He pulled out his chair and sat down, watching Victor do the same.

"Anything you can recommend? I'm not too familiar with French cuisine, so…"

"Absolutely. Is there anything you don't eat?"

"Well, no. Not really."

"Well, I've already ordered some wine," Victor said whilst reaching for an already opened bottle, pouring some into Yuuri's glass, "and I think bœuf bourguignon will be a perfect match for this wine."

"Oh, not too much wine for me, thank you."

Victor chuckled in response. "Things happen when you get drunk, don't they?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, they do."

 

**~**~**

 

Dinner slowly stepped aside, making room for dessert, consisting of coffee and what Victor considered to be another French customary, namely the Paris-Brest.

"It's perfect for sharing, it's so rich," he said whilst handing Yuuri half of the pastry on an assiette.

"Thank you." He reached for the small plate and was quick to find his dessert fork. "Oh, it is good!"

"Right? So, Yuuri?"

"Mhm?"

"I just wanted to hear how you were doing. All things considering."

"Victor, I'm fine." He took a sip of coffee. "Really. I… Okay, in all honesty, I feel slightly uncomfortable speaking to you about, well… "

"Mr. Complicated?"

"Right." _He was quick to name him that. But he's right. It kind of is complicated._

"I'm sorry. I'm just curious. I just have an issue how someone can, willingly, break things off with you. That's all."

He choked on his coffee, trying his best to downplay the fact that he had been so surprised by his answer. And flattered. Mostly flattered.

With a little wine clouding his mind, he heard himself say something he never thought he would say. At least, not to him. At least, not considering how the day had started. At least, not considering, well, everything. "Okay, so… What do you want to know?"

At first, it looked like Victor's eyes were filled with disbelief. It only lasted a second before that smile, that unbelievably attractive smile engaged his whole face.

"Really?!" His voice carried something that reminded Yuuri of a childish delight, like something had finally been offered to him.

"Yes, really."

"Huh! Okay, so… what did you like about him?"

"What I liked about him? Oh, let's see… He was funny, he had a great sense of humor. He was generous, he was kind…"

"Handsome?"

"I, uh… "

"How was the sex?"

"Hey! No comment!"

"Honestly, Yuuri. How was the sex?"

He felt his face flaring up. To him, relationships and especially the intimate parts of relationships were nothing but private. But for some reason, he felt like he had to humor him. After all, he'd done him a favor. A more indistinct one, true, but a favor nonetheless.

"It… i-it was, um…" _Why is it so damn embarrassing?!_ "It was… Really, I... I, uh… He was my first in so many ways and he taught me so much about… well, about a lot of things. About myself. Aboutㅡ"

"Sex?"

"Yes." He felt his pulse quicken. "He, uh… He was very, uh, attentive."

"Huh. So it was good?"

"Y-yes. It was amazing."

He watched as Victor took a sip of coffee, seemingly lost in thought. Licking the dessert fork clean from the praline cream with a sigh.

"So, he was kind, funny, generous. The sex was _amazing_. What didn't you like about him?"

"What?"

"Yeah, why did it end, according to you?"

"I… I'd like to think that he was rather busy? That he was a bad listener? And, maybe…"

"Uh-huh?"

"No, it's… it's nothing. I kind of… No, I don't want to talk about that."

"I understand. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's… right now, it's not important."

"Did he treat you good, then?"

"Yes, he did. I don't think he did anything to be cruel. At least, not intentionally. So…"

"You loved him."

"Yes. I do. Did! I… don'tㅡ"

"He's not named Mr. Complicated for nothing, huh?"

Yuuri laughed. Yes, he was indeed aptly named. "I guess you're right."

He reached for his coffee cup and drank what was left. "Oh, um… Victor?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For this. For earlier too. I don't understand, I mean, I can't understand _why_ you do all this but… thank you. I mean it."

"Yuuri, sometimes one doesn't have to have reasons for everything. Things just happen at times. No?"

"I guess they do."

"Right. So, I take it you're done? Done for the night?"

"I think so too."

"Would you like to join me tomorrow? For breakfast?"

Somehow, that question didn't feel as emotionally charged anymore. To join him, to spend some time with him. It was something he, at least in that moment, could look forward to. Strangely enough.

"I'd like that."

"Perfect. I know where you stay so… maybe I can come and get you?"

"Sure. Not too early," he said with a laugh.

"I'll definitely let you have your beauty sleep, don't worry. So, I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. Good night, Victor." He pushed out his chair and stood up, feeling warm inside. Something not attributed to alcohol.

The heat intensified when he saw Victor standing up, getting close. Doing nothing else than to look down at him with a smile that conveyed something he really couldn't figure out.

His breath brought with it a smell of coffee, a hint of wine and whisper of hazelnut when he replied. "Good night, Yuuri."

Yuuri wasn't sure, but when he walked away he thought he felt a touch linger on his hand.


	5. You persevere

His breathing got caught in his throat when he felt his hands on him. Warm, purposeful hands that seemingly tested him. Wanting to see how far they could go without being too intrusive, too demanding. It wasn't the first time they've done that, those hands of his. Skimming across his bare skin, applying different kinds of pressure, different kinds of touches.

"Feeling okay, Yuuri?" His voice was low, his breath high on him and what he was doing to him.

He was okay. More than okay. Feeling the words tumble across his lips, wet and lingering, affecting him in totally different ways than the touches from the hands, made him sigh. Made him moan.

"You're that okay? Good." He kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Swiftly it passed by, like it never happened.

He had been apprehensive at first, slightly taken aback by what he had proposed. But he had proposed it with a tone of voice that was questioning, open to suggestions and full of respect that the initial reaction got washed away. Taken by the current of desire, mesmerised by images that his offer brought to life before his inner eye, soothed by the fact that he trusted him.

Yes, he trusted him completely, he realised. Being close against him, responding to his touch, getting words of encouragement spoken into his ear and giving him back something just as motivating but wordless in return was evidence enough. In that manner, they fed off each other, sustained each other. Testing, trying, evaluating. Testing to see what reactions they could bring out from the other with being too little or too much. Trying to understand where the lines were, if they were ready to be moved in either direction without questioning. Evaluating if it turned out the way they'd hoped for it to do.

That's why he'd said yes to all of that. The testing, trying, evaluating. That was why he couldn't see. Being deprived of one of his senses would heighten the experience, or so he had been told. Again, he had trusted him. Again, he did his best to prove him right.

"I'm going to take them off now," he heard him say, hands trailing his sides and his breath caressing everything else. "Look at you. You… you are amazing."

It was still strange to him, hearing his reverent tone. Understanding that he was speaking about him, to him, in that way. Feeling hands on his hips, just resting there was something else he found peculiar. Inhaling his scent, mixed together with his own and creating something thick and carnal, was unfathomable. It had happened so fast. All of it. Their meeting, the attraction, the need. But with him, it felt good. It felt right. It felt needed.

When he realised that thumbs had found their way underneath the waistline of his underwear, his heart started to race, clench, race, clench. Making him gasp, shudder, gasp, shudder. This was new, the complete euphoria brought out by nothing but anticipation. Also, knowing that this situation, at least to him, was something else, something new, something uncharted, only added to his heady expectation.

They had been with each other, three times before. They had been with each other in ways where he had been allowed to be the one who set the pace, something he was thankful for. Being told to speak up if anything would be too little or too much. He had been insecure when he was given that responsibility, but pliant. Testing his boundaries, trying to keep up with him and keep him interested, evaluating what it was he was feeling inside as they went along.

And now, being left with the taste of him and his tongue in his mouth, hearing their shared breathing become shallow and quick, and finally, feeling fabric sliding down his thighs and fingers digging into his flesh made him realise that there was no need. No need to bide his time, no need to tread wearily, no need to listen to anything else than the rhythm they sought to create together.

"Hu-hurry, I… I want this. I need this, pleaㅡ" _Yes. Yes!_

He wasn't sure if it was because of the warm sensation, the sound of a mouthy slurp or the low laugh that vibrated between his legs, but they were connected now, he realised. Not only by what they were doing, but also by what they actually were feeling. Being isolated from seeing him, lost to fend for his own in his own little darkened reality, made it so evident, so incredibly clear.

What he felt sundered, tore and brought down everything, every last remaining sliver of hesitation he had within him. This is what he wanted, what he had been chasing without really knowing it. Although that hesitation disappeared, another still rung rue. He wanted to convince himself that it was possible to have access to everything that made him feel the way _he_ did, he wanted to convince himself that he was worthy of it. Of everything spent together with him.

Feeling the wetness, the tightness taking him in, pulling him towards something he had yet to experience being close with someone else, he got lost in a fluttering thought. Something that felt like an epiphany. Why speak in words, why try to make feelings known when this was everything? Filling him up with an understanding that there was no need. As long as they could share this, nothing but this, there was no need for anything else. This would always bring them closer, this would always be the one thing that could make everything so right. So perfectly complete.

Gripping the sheets came naturally, out of instinct. Like they could ever ground him. He felt a panic, an overwhelming dread that started to consume him, pull him down. Like it raced, dashed through the intricate maze that was his nervous system, next to the other feeling that harbored him. The one that wanted him to take flight. What would happen when the moment was over, when the darkness he was in were to become a blinding light? He feared for himself, feared to never actually be offered to see the images in his head play out before him. See them in the flesh.

His hands were on him, that was easy to imagine without him having to see it. A hand leisurely letting its fingers trace his collarbone, the side of his chest. The palm got invited to skim over his stomach, feel his waist. Adding an urgency to the soft touches of the fingers preceding it.

The wetness disappeared for a second, along with that fantastic, slick and warm pressure. "I'm going to make you come. You've earned it."

The soft touches disappeared. The urgency of a palm became something shared by two, quickly morphing into desperation. Hands on his hips, digging into him. Tilting him, lifting him upwards until his shoulders barely touched the bed.

He wanted to see. He wanted to see what he was doing to him. What he looked like when being contorted like that, folded at the hip. He wanted to see the meeting, when he would be consumed by him. Taken into that mouth that never ceased to astonish him, especially now.

He cried out when it happened, when he felt him nibble, kiss and devour. Understanding that he needed to remember every second of the warmth enveloping him, bit by bit. Understanding that he needed to remember what it was like to really _feel_. Understanding that he needed to remember _him_.

It was his first time. His first time being close to someone else, feeling waves upon waves rush through him. Just underneath his skin only to find their way deep into him, into his core. It was his first time that he had called someone's name with the hope of it never disappearing from his lips. It was his first time that he desperately wished for something not to end, hoping to be forever revelling in the blissful convulsions of what he'd been given.

_He_ was his first, giving him things that previously had been new, unexplored.

"I'm just going to take it off, and… there. You can open your eyes now. Happy birthday, Yuuri."

_He_ was his first, and he knew he wanted him to be his last.

* * *

He woke up with a jolt, understanding instantly what had happened. Feeling it too, or at least, the results of it. He sighed, trying not to acknowledge the clench in the pit of his stomach. But it was hard, impossible even. He felt turned on. Initially, a wave of embarrassment drowned him. Reacting to that kind of dreams at his age was not only childish, it was adolescent. Puerile. After a moment of silent contemplation, he considered it to be heartbreaking.

He sat up, pulled his legs close to his chest. _Our first time, huh._

Heartbreaking, yes. How they had loved each other that afternoon, shared something that ended up being his first _actual_ sexual experience. How he remembered that he had promised himself to never to find another. How he never wanted it to end, any of it.

And yet, here he was. Alone. Longing. Wanting. But also… He felt his cheeks flare up. He was also appreciated, kind of. Flirted with, definitely. Interested? _Shit._

He tried to retrace his steps, what he'd been doing. What he'd been saying. What he'd been letting go and letting in. He realised that he'd done a lot. Maybe even too much. But in all honesty, it had felt good. At least, after a while. Strangely, it started with him telling Victor to stay. Continuing with letting him touch him, allowing him to put his head against his shoulder. Accepting to join him for dinner and, _oh no_ , saying things about them. About _him_ without thinking twice.

At the same time, being met where he was, by someone not trying to master him was a novelty. Experiencing someone who, surprisingly enough, just listened and said the right things and acted in a way he always had wanted _him_ to. How _he_ , in all honesty, had acted at first when they were new to each other.

_My first and the one I wanted to be my last._

He scoffed, thinking that he was silly. For idolising love, for thinking that the first person he'd ever had a relationship with was the one he was supposed to stay with. But still… he had loved him. Really, really loved him. He'd felt that pitter-patter in his chest whenever he saw him, heard him, whenever they got close. He'd sought him out whenever he needed strength, whenever he needed to be seen and validated. He'd felt warm inside doing silly things, small things. All together with him. After all, he'd married him. He said yes, he chose him. Nothing could ever make that undone.

But at the same time something, or a lot of things, went wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. He wanted to correct it all, still. Hoping that making amends, achieving some peace of mind while doing so would relieve that dull ache inside. Hoping that, well, it could be made undone. Because he loved him. Yes, he loved him, still.

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he tried to put pieces of that scrambled emotional puzzle together. Hoping that some of them would fit, hopefully making sense and creating an image that was understandable.

He needed to understand why he still was stuck on him, but he considered that to be easy. Or easier. He had feelings for him, definitely. They'd been _married_ , that would never change _._ Also, a lot of things remained unsaid between them, complicated further by him losing his phone. Rendering him unable to do something about it, not counting the ever present self-blame, the continuous longing, the haunting memories. Then, there was the other issue, the one Victor so graciously had brought to his attention by asking a question.

He hadn't called him, not even once. Not even texted him. Leaving him alone with his thoughts, his need for him only amplifying with every passing day. The answer to that could be simple, it could also be much more, say, tortuous. Maybe he just didn't care about him. Not at all, not in the same way or maybe, just maybe, he did. Maybe he too was being incapacitated by all that they'd shared but lost?

A warmth spread out instantly. There was still a possibility. He hadn't talked to him, told him how he felt. That meant that he didn't know, and maybe knowing would make him come around? Make him soften. Make him… _take me back?_

An image of blue eyes and silver hair came out from nowhere, claiming more and more pieces of the puzzle. Fighting to stay with him, making him feel… that pitter-patter? That validation? That warmth? Also, that crippling feeling from yesterday. The one he didn't even dare to think about, but did anyway. That jealousy.

It became a game, to find meaning. To find a reason to all of it. An answer to the question, 'why'? Why did they even have to come across each other? Why now? Why did he feel like claiming him?

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Instantly remembering that he'd said yes. Again. He grabbed his glasses and clambered out of bed, silently cursing himself for sleeping until… when? His eyes shot back at the small clock on the nightstand, next to the bed. _Nine thirty_.

Another knock made him walk towards the door. Hoping that the last thing he remembered before we woke up wouldn't show, wouldn't be anything else than his own secret. He didn't have to look through the peephole, he knew how it was. Dreading to open the door but wanting to. The want was louder, a bit more decisive.

"Morning, Yuuri! Let'sㅡ" Victor's voice abruptly cut itself off, followed by a look with widened eyes that made Yuuri squirm inside. "You're… not going out like _that_ , are you?"

He still squirmed, though invisibly. Now, due to other reasons entirely.

"Don't tell me I woke you? I did, didn't I?" A smile spread out across Victor's face, making his eyes narrow into thin arches.

"No! No, you didn't I just, just slept a little longer than I…" He sighed. "Should've."

The chuckle became a laugh, and ended with Victor putting a finger to his lips. Tapping them as if he was deep in thought. "So, Yuuri… aren't you going to ask me to come in?"

It kept on happening. Him saying yes, opening up, letting in. All he could think of was 'why'.

 

**~**~**

 

"So, I… I need to take a shower." He tried to sound normal, tried to sound like he wasn't embarrassed by the consequences of a dream that left him flustered. Feeling guilty that he now had to wash it off when knowing that he wasn't alone.

"Go ahead." Victor's voice sounded unaffected, unknowing, which was probably just as well.

Yuuri looked at him. Feeling inferior when he noticed how Victor was dressed. A heavy, grey knitted sweater with elaborate details along its neckline, stooping to show the groove between his collarbones. Trousers that seemed tailored, clinging to him like a black, second skin. An aegean-coloured muffler with tiny specks of something lighter acting as a contrast, effortlessly thrown around his neck and his black coat framing it all. While he, on the other hand, wore pajama bottoms and a t-shirt.

"I will," Yuuri answered with a nod. "So… I'll try toㅡ"

"Call me if you need help?" Victor beamed, excitement giving his voice a special intonation.

"No. No! I don'tㅡ"

"Want it or need it?"

"What? I saidㅡ"

"Nothing of the sort?"

"Well, I wasㅡ"

"Hoping that I would offer it without you even asking? Aren't you forward!"

Yuuri couldn't look away, break the connection that their eyes made on their own. One of them as definitely enjoying the cheeky exchange more than the other, but the smile was contagious. After a short while, they mirrored each other. Smiling towards each other, but not standing too close. Not touching. Just feeling a little less alone and thankful for it being so.

"Off you go," Victor finally said, walking up to the armchair before placing himself in it, pulling his phone out of his coat pocket.

"Right. I'll be quick."

Yuuri went over to his suitcase, trying to choose something that wouldn't make him feel as scruffy but realising within seconds that it was hopeless. He didn't even own anything that could possibly match Victor's appearance.

"Just be you, Yuuri. It's more than enough."

Yuuri looked at him over his shoulder. He was extremely perceptive, even though he was totally relaxed in that armchair with his legs crossed and head slightly bent down, busying himself with his phone.

"Thank you," he whispered as he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

* * *

"It's going to be more of a brunch now, but you don't mind?"

"No, not at all. Thank you."

"Good. I know a place, it's kind of fun."

They were walking side by side, down the road that felt somewhat familiar by now. Walking down Rue de Rivoli towards The Louvre.

"Is it far?" He had to ask. He wanted to remember this moment, this walk, for some reason. There was a difference walking down that road today, and he felt somewhat humbled by the fact that it had carried him across that little piece of Paris, through several different mindsets. Today was… pleasant.

"No. Here, go right."

The turned right down Rue de Marengo, and stopped at Rue de Saint Honoré.

"We're going to cross here and down that street," Victor pointed. "Make sure you look to your left first."

"It's because I'm Japanese, right?"

"It would kill me to see you hit by a car, that's all."

With Victor's words echoing in his ears, he felt it. Just briefly, like it was never there to start with. The pitter-patter. He looked to the left, and on Victor's almost invisible cue, they crossed. Heading for Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, feeling the small flutter inside being gone.

It looked like a very atypical place to eat, being squeezed between offices and luxury boutiques, but when Victor opened the door, Yuuri was floored by the scents. Coffee, bread, a hint of a zesty sweetness from oranges, perhaps.

"After you." Victor held the door, and put his hand on Yuuri's shoulder when he passed. "Go sit anywhere. I'm just going to say hello to someone, okay?" As if he'd read Yuuri's mind, that immediately had started to race, he added, "It's the owner. She and I are friends."

Yuuri found a table down in a corner and it didn't take long before Victor appeared.

"That was quick, huh? So, I'd recommend the German style breakfast if you're hungry. It's more ham, less viennoiseries."

"Sounds great. It's so different, France. Not just the food and the culture but, you know, the feel of it somehow."

"Oh, I know. You've just started to notice that?" Victor looked at him with a little smile.

"I… I guess I sort of have."

"I'm glad. Sit, I'll get our food."

 

**~**~**

 

Yuuri took a bite out of his boiled egg and looked down at the small table. They had spent their time eating together in silence, for some reason. Exchanging nothing more that the occasional look, the random smile. Without making it too obvious, he looked at the large clock on the wall. Noticing the numbers of it being mounted onto the wall, somewhat irregularly placed.

They'd spent three hours together already. A good hour of the accumulated time not talking. He wanted to do something about that, he realised.

"So, Victor? You've asked me a lot of questions but, and forgive me if I'm rude because I don't mean to, I want to, um…" _Know things about you too._

Victor looked at him, seemingly surprised, before he reached for his coffee cup and took a sip. "Ask away."

"Oh, okay. So, you're from Russia?"

"Yes. St. Petersburg."

"That's…"

"Closer to Finland than China."

"Ah. And you work in advertising?"

"Yes." His tone carried a tiny sharpness for some reason, and it seemed like he pushed his hair back a bit to make it a little less apparent. As if the motion could cover it up. His fringe fell into place over his left eye almost immediately.

Yuuri decided to change topic altogether, feeling a slight chill by that small change. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Any pets?"

"No, sadly. I would love to have a dog at some point but I don't have the time."

"I love dogs." He finished the last piece of his egg and drank some orange juice to wash it down. "So, uh…"

"Yuuri, just ask already."

"As-ask what?"

"If I'm seeing anyone."

He felt a bit unnerved. By Victor's helpful retort and by the fact that his ears were becoming hot. He hadn't thought of asking that, really. Not at all. Not… since last night anyway. And only to be polite!

"I… I never wanted to ask you that but…" He looked down at the table and up again, feeling pierced by the blue eyes that seemed to like what they were seeing. "...are you?"

"I'm not." Victor huffed, leaning his head on one of his hands. Yuuri couldn't help himself to find that somewhat endearing. Both the small interjection of amusement and the gesture.

"Oh… so…" _Of course he's not seeing anyone, he doesn't have to. Look at him! He can have anyone he wants._

"I'm just biding my time," Victor said, making Yuuri's ears share some of the heat engulfing them with the rest of his face. "I want to make sure it's right."

Before he could stop himself, Yuuri felt the words just spill out of him. Feeling both a distress and an annoyance. "And how do you know? How do you know if it's right?!"

He wasn't sure where to look. Looking away would make it feel strange because he wasn't angry, looking at something else would send the wrong message to everyone else because they weren't arguing. Looking at him, into those blue eyes, would make it feel like something was about to end. But he did anyway, being astonished by how those blue eyes were calmly meeting his.

"Yuuri, I think you know that already. You don't have to ask me." He shifted, crossed his legs and leaned back a little. "You were married once. You're an excellent judge of character."

"I doubt it," he replied in a low voice. Trying hard not to make it awkward. "Look where it got me."

"You're here with me," Victor smiled. "That counts for something, no?"

"Why? Why are you saying things like this, huh? Victor?"

"Tell me why I shouldn't instead."

"Because! Because we've just met! And because I don't know what I should do when you look at me, I don't know what to feel when you say the things you do and I…" Yuuri started to feel his lower lip quiver, wanting more than anything to have the conversation undone. Wishing that he could do something else instead.

"You have someone? Right. See, I keep forgetting about that. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise!"

"Hey, I apologise because _I am_ sorry. I don't want to hurt you. It's just that simple." Victor sighed, a barely audible one. "Yuuri, about yesterday. When you got upset, when you saw me, I feel like Iㅡ"

"I _don't_ want to talk about that. I don't. It's… it's nothing." He clenched his teeth. He felt rude for interrupting him, but in all honesty, he couldn't deal with a discussion about that. What he'd seen. How he'd felt. Nothing good would come out of it. He wouldn't be able to stay composed.

"I hear you. But should it ever become _something_ , I hope you do. Talk, that is."

Their eyes wandered. To other people, to the traffic outside, to small crumbs and napkins left on their plates. It was with wandering eyes, with a distant voice Victor took the initiative to speak.

"When are you leaving for Japan tomorrow?"

"Huh?" Yuuri looked up at him from wringing a napkin into something thin and brittle. "My flight leaves at four."

"Ah." Victor pulled up his phone, not noticing the giant wall-mounted clock behind him, and looked at it for a few seconds before putting it back. "My flight leaves earlier. That means we've got roughly sixteen hours at our disposal. Including sleep."

Yuuri dropped the napkin on the table and put his hands in his lap. Looking at them made it easier to think, to relax. _Sixteen hours, huh. To do what, exactly?_ He decided to pose the question, albeit differently. "What do you mean, Victor?"

"Please say yes, Yuuri. Let's go out tonight, let me show you Paris. If you don't like it, then we'll go back. We'll go to bed, catch our flights and get on with our lives. Sounds fair?" He extended his hand.

Yuuri realised that he'd done a lot of things during the last few days. Some of them, he never asked for. Some of them, he wanted to have undone. Some of them, he realised he had found pleasant. Some of them, he couldn't understand.

He took Victor's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Yes. Show me Paris tonight."

This, however, was the first thing he'd wanted.

* * *

After brunch, they walked back to the hotel. Not really saying much, other than to confirm the time and place for their next meeting. After making sure they knew the where and when, they separated. Yuuri stayed at the hotel, while Victor went out almost immediately after dropping him off. They would only have a few hours to spend individually, before it was time to go.

Yuuri found it amusing that Victor had chosen the Eiffel Tower. He was probably doing him a favor, choosing the only sight impossible to miss and easy enough to get to.

After instructions from the receptionist working at the hotel, he took the metro from Chatelet, understanding that he was going to be late.

As he got off, finding his way was easy enough. Finding Victor wasn't. He realised that it didn't matter that he was late, the sea of people made it difficult to get around and really spot anyone. Seemed like everyone wanted to meet around the Eiffel Tower. Probably because it was, indeed, impossible to miss. He hated that he'd lost his phone, it would have come in handy right about now.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It didn't come as a surprise who it was. As he turned around, he was greeted with a smile, and a look just as inviting. One that made him look away.

"Glad you found it! Come, let's have a look."

They walked towards the tower, passing through Champ de Mars. Victor acted as a good host, telling him bits and pieces of information about the Tower, its creation and that the view was amazing from above.

"Would you like to go up, Yuuri? We can, if you like."

"Sure! The view must be something else."

"You just wait," Victor said, pulling out his wallet.

"Hey, Victor? I don't want to come across as ungrateful but I canㅡ"

"No. Let me do this for you. As a thank you."

Yuuri laughed. "What? You can't possibly have anything to thank me for!"

"More than you know, Yuuri. Come, let's go. You want to go to the top, right?"

"Yes, definitely!"

After queuing, and that took a while, they got on the lift and rode up to the top. Upon exiting, Yuuri felt floored. The view was indeed something else. Seeing Paris from above, not being one with everything that happened down below felt surreal. He went up to the guard fence and gripped it, trying to get a better view. Below, he could spot the Seine. The Champ de Mars. The city with its beating pulse getting more and more alive, more and more aflame as the sun started to set.

"It's something, isn't it?"

Yuuri jolted when he felt Victor's breath caress his cheek, the warmth of him against his back. He swallowed instinctively.

"I-it's beautiful."

"When you see views like this, Yuuri, it becomes easy to forget that we're all a part of that. All of that down there. Up here, it feels different. Like we're not only above it all in a literal sense but also in a figurative sense, don't you think? Not only everyday life and other people, but also… well, time and everything else."

"I, um… " He felt distracted. Feeling the faint scent of him. He wanted to look to his side, see how close he was and if he should feel uncomfortable or not but he settled. Settled in the moment. Felt himself relax. Almost wanting to lean back, feel him being that close. But he didn't.

Instead, it was Victor who leaned back, taking the appropriate amounts of steps away from him before asking him if they should go.

 

**~**~**

They had caught a taxi. Yuuri couldn't understand the conversation between Victor and the driver, but he got a feeling that they had some kind of understanding between them. The way the driver was looking back at them through the rearview mirror made him fidget a little.

"Victor, where are weㅡ"

" _Ah, Japonais?"_ The driver posed a question, to Victor no doubt.

" _Oui, il est Japonais."_

" _Ah, bonne chance. J'espere qu'il t'ai_ ㅡ"

" _C'est assez, maintenant. L'avenir nous le dira."_ Victor glanced at Yuuri with a small smile on his face. "Sorry. We're going to Montmartre, Yuuri."

"What's there?"

"Well… For one, it's a nice place to walk around in. You'll see."

After maybe twenty minutes, the taxi pulled over. Victor handed the driver his card, they exchanged some pleasantries, Yuuri guessed, before they started to walk.

Montmartre was basically a hill, as far as Yuuri understood it. Victor said that it was a very old part of the city, where not only painters such as Dalí, Matisse and van Gogh found refuge. Famous establishments like the Moulin Rouge were also found in Montmartre.

On top of the hill, just before they started to trail down the other side, they passed the Sacre Cœur. Yuuri tried not to think of him passing two churches in just as many days. First being alone, being consumed by distress and an ever-building confusion that had made him feel like all was lost. And now, he was being together with someone else. Feeling something far from distress, but still confusing.

Going down the hill, he saw Victor glancing to the side. His eyes resting on couples wanting to express their love without having to take the final step, without tying their lives together. Arms and mouths were apparently enough.

"Cute," he exclaimed softly, while Yuuri tried his best not to look.

They walked along Rue de Yvonne le Tac, framed by restaurants and shops before they turned right.

"It's just up ahead," Victor said. "We're just staying here a short while."

Yuuri followed him around a corner, through a public garden until they came upon something that in the distance looked blue. When they came closer, Yuuri saw that it was an art installation of some kind, placed on the side of a building. Tiles upon tiles with scribbles in white on them, making it look like a wall made out of mosaic.

Victor said nothing. He just picked out his phone and took a picture in the vanishing daylight.

Yuuri stepped closer and noticed that a lot of different languages were represented on the tiles. That's what the scribbles were, phrases written in a vast amount of languages. Many he couldn't read, not even guess what they were. Some he could read, but not understand and… Some he actually could.

"Huh. It says 'I love you' in Japanese here. And in Chinese. And in English. I know that's French. Oh, here's another one in Japanese. Different wording… though?"

He turned around, slowly. Not knowing if he should do anything or maybe everything when he saw those blue eyes. He realised that he trembled inside. Something that spilled over into his voice.

"Vi-Victor? Why have you taken me here? What…"

"Why is that, you think?" He met his eyes with a calm gaze. Crossed arms, seemingly relaxed. He was impossible to read. To understand.

"I… I don't know? I, um, kind of…" _What is he saying? He can't possibly... Not after three days, there's just no way! Why is he doing this to me?!_

"When I first met you, Yuuri, you… had problems. Problems that tore you apart. Seeing this, well… I was kind of hoping that you would still have some faith in you." Victor walked up to him, letting his arms fall down his sides. "Because I do. I think it will work out this time. One way or another. I think you just need to be reminded of what's written on that wall behind you."

"But… I don't understand you, what does it even mean?!"

"What do you think itㅡ"

"Can you stop that? You're always answering my questions with questions! Why is that? Why can't you just tell me what you think of this? Of me?!"

Victor sighed. For the first time, he seemed insecure. The way his eyes started to find other things to look at, the way he pulled his hair back. The way he wanted to reach out and… touch him? Maybe?

"Yuuri? It's not up to me to answer any questions this time. It's up to you. Entirely up to you. You will figure it out, and whatever questions you choose to answer, whatever decision you choose to make… It'll be alright."

It felt like time had taken them and put them somewhere else. Somewhere where it wouldn't affect them. Somewhere where they could be alone and listen to each other, talk to each other.

"What… how… how do you say it in Russian?" He was holding his breath, he realised, now that the blues eyes were on his. Not understanding why he'd asked the question. Not knowing if the answer would change anything. But right then and there, it felt like he needed to hear it. To see what it would do to him, if anything.

It looked like Victor smiled, but this time, it didn't engage him like before. His eyes said something else, something truthful. Something that his smile tried to downplay.

" _Ya tebya lyublyu_." He paused. "What do _you_ say, Yuuri?"

"About… about what?"

"Maybe it's time to head back?"

* * *

Walking from Montmartre down to Rue de Rivoli, down to the hotel, took an hour. Maybe more.

Initially, it felt excruciating. Walking side by side, not saying anything. Hearing nothing but that pounding sound in his ears. It managed to drown out everything else, left him in a strange place. It was like he was walking around to his own pulse, his own beat, his own rhythm. Not letting anything else pierce through.

Yuuri understood that he felt alone. He'd been letting in, opening up, saying yes, but it had left him with a void inside. One he didn't know how to fill. He wanted to feel sure, sure of what to do in order to make it so. He wanted to have the answers to every single question, be certain about deciding but it was impossible. He was afraid.

Initially, it felt excruciating but that feeling disappeared. It turned into sadness instead. Knowing that they would part the next morning, leaving him none the wiser about what he… No, that wasn't true. He _knew._ He knew what he wanted but he was tied down. Tethered to things of old, things that felt, at least in this strange happening of events, to be more frightening to stray from than to revisit. He knew what he wanted but he was rendered unable. Frightened by things of a certain novelty that felt, at least next to the things of old, too unknown for him to reach out and hold. If just for a little while.

Looking at Victor, Yuuri wondered what could possibly go on inside him. Why he'd approached him in the first place. Why he'd been spending hours upon hours with him. Why he'd been so adamant taking him places, showing him things, asking him questions. Leading him through the lows, not asking for anything in return but his company. He could guess what he wanted, although he never explicitly said anything. But still, Victor wouldn't push him, or do anything to make anything easier. That left him conflicted. Still.

"So, here we are." Victor's voice sounded unaffected, unchanged, unreadable when they finally passed through the entrance to the hotel. Walking through the lobby. "Are you going up, or…"

_Oh, that's right. He's leaving early._ "I… I think so."

"Then, I'll go with you."

They walked towards the lifts, Yuuri being the one to press the button.

"When does your flight leave tomorrow?"

"I'm leaving the hotel at eight." Victor was interrupted by the ding when the lift arrived. "The Paris traffic, you know."

They walked inside, Victor pressed the button for the third floor.

"So…" Yuuri started.

"So…" Victor repeated.

The lift dinged anew. Yuuri walked out and felt that clench, that pitter-patter, all of those things his body could possibly feel when he heard that he was being followed.

He put his hand in his pocket. Finding the keycard was simple, now that the pocket wasn't crowded by his mobile phone. He prepared to put it in the slit of the door, trying to flip it the right way.

"Yuuri?"

He responded to his call, immediately. Turned around maybe a bit too quick.

His hands were on him, his eyes were on him. His mouth… was close. Feeling those warm hands holding him, on both sides of his face, made him nervous. Seeing those blue eyes looking into his, without so much as a tremble, made him warm. If that mouth could get closer, just a little bit closer, then he would open up, let in. Maybe even say… _yes. Make me say yes._

"Take care."

He tried to remember if he'd ever felt like that before. Being incapacitated. Cold. Unable to speak. Desperate. Yes. He'd felt exactly like this, sometime before. And like before, could only watch it happen without making his feelings known.

* * *

He'd been sitting in the restaurant of the hotel since it opened. It was close to two hours ago. Keeping a close eye on everyone passing through the lobby. He had yet to see him.

He looked up. _A quarter to eight. Where is he?_

He decided to walk to the reception, prepared to ask if… _I only know his first name! I don't even know what room he stayed in!_ His eyes started to burn.

Exiting the restaurant, preparing himself to have one of the most awkward conversations in his life, his eyes got drawn to something on the outside. Something black, with a hint of silver.

He hurried, hurried to the outside. His chest was heaving due to is agitation when he stopped a couple of paces away from him.

"Hey, Yuuri! Good morning! You're up early!"

He looked amazing. Dressed in a black suit and tie, an off-whitish shirt, that black coat. Dark leather gloves that looked magical when close to his face, like now, when he removed his sunglasses. And those blue eyes, a colour the sky never could mimic.

"I'm kind of glad, actually," Victor continued, "because I have something for you." He sat down on his heels and rummaged through the messenger bag by his feet. "Here."

Yuuri was presented with a neatly wrapped box. Not understanding why he was given a present, why Victor sounded so cheery and seemed so unfazed by the days that had passed. He immediately thinking it had to do with him leaving, that he'd had his fun and that was that.

"I don't want you to open it now. Give it a couple of hours, okay?"

"Victor, I…" He felt it build inside of him. That void. It wanted to consume him. Make him realise that if he didn't do anything, whether connected to old or new, he would be, indeed alone.

"No need, Yuuri. There's no need for any of that."

"I just wanted to thank you. So, uh… Thank you Victor. Thank you so much. For these last few days, for… listening. For being there. For… for being you. I don't know ifㅡ"

"You've sorted things out? You will. Believe me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Just a feeling. Oh, look!" Victor pointed at something behind Yuuri, making him turn around. "That's probably why you recognised me before, huh?"

On a billboard, he saw Victor. His face and his body looking exquisite, all in monochrome, close to another man just as undressed. He was holding a bottle, resting at the sway of the other man's back. 'In saeculum saeculi', it said in white letters at the bottom of the image.

"You're aㅡ"

"Model? Yes. That counts as advertising, no?"

"Whyㅡ"

"People get intimidated, I guess."

Yuuri turned around again to face him. _A model, huh? If I had known I probably wouldn't have talked to him. Because it_ ㅡ

"There's my ride." Victor interrupted his train of thoughts. He opened the door to a taxi that had stopped and threw in his bag in the backseat. "So…"

"So…"

"Thank you, Yuuri. It's been great. Remember, open it," he nodded at the gift in Yuuri's hands, "in a couple of hours. You don't have to use it, but I would be glad if you did."

"Victor, Iㅡ" He flinched when he felt a leather-clad finger on his lips.

"See you, Yuuri. It'll be alright."

It was impossible for him. Impossible to say anything when that finger left his lips. Impossible to admit what was going on inside when he saw him close the door of the taxi. Impossible to understand what him being out of sight did to him. Leaving him with a feeling that Victor might, just might, have never existed in the first place.

* * *

He didn't wait. As soon as he got back to his room, he clawed at the coloured paper. He needed to see what the final thing Victor had left him with actually was.

_A mobile phone._

He turned it on. The wait for it to boot up felt like an eternity. When it did, the message app lit up immediately. It had a small bubble with an '1' inside of it.

 

**From: Victor Nikiforov**

Hi Yuuri. Maybe this will make it easier for you, I really hope so.

I took the liberty of adding myself to your contacts. Oh, and make that call. /Vitya

 

With a laugh or a sob, he wasn't sure, he sat with the phone in his hands. Trying to decide what to do.

Eventually, he did decide. He made the call.


	6. Epilogue

He took a large mouthful of his drink. He felt uncomfortable, out of place, but he'd been asked to go, so naturally… he did. He felt stupid for saying yes, not thinking about what it would do to him when his own insecurities ran rampant inside. He'd gotten the promise that he wouldn't be left alone, but as soon as the people he got there with disappeared, as if scattered by the wind, he felt it. The innate nervousness. So he did what he always did in situations like these, found a spot at the bar and kept to himself.

Naturally, he'd turned to drinking. Drinking usually made him relax, made him loose. Slightly more open and inviting too. But it didn't work this time, or rather, it worked to a degree. The slight heat that enveloped his ears, the tingling sensation in his hands, the way his vision was just a little more blurry than usual… All of that was good, but why couldn't it do what he'd wanted it to do, just soften his mind a little bit?

"Another, please." His English was slurry now, he noticed, his insecurities flaring up within the second he understood that. He feared if anyone would come to approach him. Would he make a fool out of himself, not being able to talk properly? Maybe people would find him strange, with him still being inhibited and too scared to look people in the eye?

"Is this seat taken?"

He didn't respond. His pulse started to gallop, he had a hard time swallowing. He thought of pretending not to understand English for a second. Make it seem like he never heard. Either way, he made no effort to acknowledge the person standing next to him. He hoped that whoever it was would get the point.

He felt a hand on his arm, which made him turn his head. Reluctantly.

"Are you doing okay?"

A man had lowered himself to his level, leaning a little against the bar. Resting his head in his hand, the one that wasn't touching his arm. Speaking with an accent he couldn't place.

"I… I'm fine…" In that short moment when his head forgot all about his social awkwardness, he was. He really was, so the answer was truthful. In part.

"Is it okay if I join you?" He had placed himself in the seat next to him so, apparently, it was?

He peered a little at his newly found company. Well dressed, seemingly well-built too. He was strangely familiar, for some reason. He decided to ask, just to get that question out of the way.

"Have I seen you before?"

"This might sound like the world's worst pickup line ever, but I'm a model." He winked a little before ordering a drink before turning his attention back to him. "What do you do?"

"I'm a video game designer."

"Huh! So… why is a, um," he posed it as a question, "video game designer doing drinking alone, then?"

"I… I don't know. I just feel really uncomfortable here, that's all."

"For being a video game designer?" He had a little cheek to his voice, like he was amused by the minimal amount of banter he had started.

He emptied his glass, feeling a small smile spread out on his lips. He felt amused by him. He not only looked good, he was witty. Social. Everything he wasn't. And for some unexplainable reason, he felt at ease with this man. He had an air about him that appealed to him, one he felt interested in.

"I just ended up here. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy and here I am," the intruder said with a smile. "Your English is awesome, where are you from? What's your name?"

"I'm Yuuri. I'm from Japan."

"Yuuri? Can I buy you a drink?"

"Yes, thank you."

He watched him as he leaned over the bar, spoke into the bartender's ear. Two shot glasses was put on the bar and instantly filled.

"Great, thank you!" He handed him a glass, his fingers slightly brushing against his. "Yuuri, cheers!" He emptied his glass immediately. In one swift move and expressed his liking immediately after swallowing. "Ooh, that's good!"

He was being watched, intently, when he downed his drink. He coughed a little after swallowing it, it was burning in his throat.

"Yuuri? Can I ask you a question?"

"Uh-huh." If he was speaking slurry, it didn't matter to him. He felt relaxed, on top of the world.

"Would it be strange if you joined me? Up there?" He nodded towards the overcrowded dancefloor.

Without hesitation, he answered. "I'd love to."

"Amazing. Here, take my hand. I'll ask him to play something suitable. Something with a lot of bass. Are you familiar with dance music, Yuuri?"

"No, not really. I used to dance ballet before. It's more classical music then, I suppose."

His eyes narrowed for just a fraction of a second. It was like he froze in mid-motion. Just for a brief moment, like a heartbeat or two, before pulling him close with a gentle tug. Speaking into his ear.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

With that, he disappeared from his side only to return just as quick. The music started, it was ear-deafening. Unknown to him.

"You dance well!" He tried to outsound the music, hoping that he got his point across.

That soft laugh that he was rewarded with made something happen inside. Made him cut himself free, made him get lost in the music, get lost in him. The bass was making him vibrate on the inside, but it didn't even come close to the reaction he felt when he realised he was being touched. Feeling his hands on him, his eyes on him, his mouth on him made him feel like it was all about them. Them and nothing else.

"Hey, I think it's because of the alcohol, I'm sorry. I really am, I feel so stupid. But did I ask you what your name was?"

* * *

He flinched due to the sound of his hands slammed down on the coffee table, harsh and almost painful to his ears. The glass had been hit with enough force to cause it to crack. Mirroring him and his feelings with an uncanny precision.

Remembering how they'd met, getting lost in the memory of how right it had been, how he'd made him feel… It was so alien, so far from what they were tangled up in at that exact moment in time. He couldn't understand how they had ended up like this, how the love had turned into something else. Something nonexistent.

"LISTEN! How many times have I told you, it's you! It's just you! It's always been you! How dare you accuse me of having someone else! I love you! I fucking love you, Yuuri!"

He was probably looking straight at him, the way he was leaning in told him this but now, and now… he'd lost the confidence he had. He didn't dare to raise his gaze. To meet his eyes. His energy was enough, it was invading him. Telling him that they were standing at the precipice.

"And you're quiet again! I can't believe you, saying something like that and thenㅡ"

"Is this how it ends?" His voice low and weak now, having completely lost the venom from before. His eyes were fixated on the ring he was still twisting and turning. He felt a sickening feeling to his stomach, having used those words. What if they were true? An omen of what was to come?

The shadow of him, the looming presence of him disappeared. Along with it, the body heat that had radiated from him, that had overpowered him, did the same. Suddenly, he felt cold. Numb. Half a man.

"Can we fix this?" He allowed himself to let his guard down, understanding where they had taken each other. Where they were going. His voice had lost its bravado, it was quivering violently. But not as much as he did on the inside. "Can't weㅡ"

"Honey, please! Please just _talk_ to me! All of the things you're carrying inside, let me have them! Let me have them, Yuuri! It doesn't have to be like this! I can't take it!"

Feeling him getting close, feeling that intoxicating heat made him feel something inside. A shadow of validation. A teasing pitter-patter. A ghostly warmth. He felt him next to him, felt his weight affect the cushions of the sofa. But he didn't dare to look at him.

Two fingers touched his jaw, made him turn his head. He did, but his eyes instantly found the floor.

"Look at me."

He shook his head. Feeling tears forcing their way out of him, pooling in his eyes before his blinks made them fall. Not on his own lap, but his lover's. His glasses were removed and put on the now cracked coffee table with a soft sound.

"I-I'm…" He tried, tried to find the words he should have said months ago, years ago. Every time he felt invisible, pushed aside, alone. "I… I-it's just… I'm so jealous, okay! I'm so insecure! Every time you're gone, I can't stop imagine how you're with others! How you're spending your time on others instead of me! I imagine you having sex with them, enjoying them and when you come home to me… Sure, we have sex but everything else is… it's all gone! What we had is all gone and I hate that! I HATE THAT!"

He understood that he was looking at him. He knew he was, and he loathed it. He hated to cry in front of him, hated to show any feelings because of the fear of scaring him off. Making him seek all of that he fantasised him doing to and with others. He did it all to protect them.

"A-and it's like… Why? Why don't you call? Why don't you care about me anymore? Am I nothing to you anymoㅡ"

"Don't say that."

"But why? Why do youㅡ"

He was silenced with a kiss. A hand pressed him closer, closer into that mouth. A hand on his back prevented him from shying away. And then, he understood. He finally understood.

Flashes of memories, of images rushing through him. He wanted to break away, he needed to breathe but he was kept close. Forced to meet the mouth that opened something up within him. He felt a numbing panic. He felt responsible. He felt like his life ended and started anew.

It felt like he melted, ceased to be. But he was held close, close against his chest. That meant he was still alive, still with him somehow. Gripping his shirt, screaming due to the unfathomable revelation that devoured him and his mind.

Eventually, he calmed down. Tried to rally his thoughts, tried to understand what he'd been shown. If it was real or not, if he was losing his mind. Right then and there, there was just one question that came to him. One he needed an answer to, one he could barely believe that he was about to ask. "How many times have we done this, Victor?"

"I don't know, Yuuri. Too many times. I stopped counting at twenty-two. I never gave up on you."

 

**-the end-**


End file.
